The Secret Lives Of Potions Masters
by Emlyn2
Summary: Someone gets hurt. Dumbledore has to send Hermione for help from an unexpected place. Takes place in sixth year, contains spoilers of OOTP. Crossover with Greg Sanders from CSI, don't worry it works.
1. The Hearth

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

"Another day over, eh, Fawkes?" said Professor Dumbledore scratching the phoenix lightly on the head. "Not molting yet are you, ah well, all things in time I suppose" the Professor continued as he made his way over to a chair by the fireplace. Waiting by the seat, as always, was a freshly made cup of hot cocoa.

"Thank you,," the Professor said to no one in particular, after all you never knew who was listening, and it never hurt to be polite. Dumbledore sat in his chair, contemplating the empty fireplace, quietly thinking.

Thus far the year was progressing uneventfully. There had been no attacks, no apparent movement at all from Voldermort, not since the Ministry of Magic had finally capitulated and announced his return. That revelation, for so it seemed to many, was not sitting well with the wizarding world, nor with his students, some of whom were preparing to take their places in that world. The threat of the coming war, instead of compelling them to forget past grievances and work together, was instead splintering them further apart.

'Still it's a new year,' Dumbledore thought to himself, 'full of opportunities to convince them to trust each other. No matter what the future holds, without trust, all ventures are guaranteed to fail.'

"Headmaster" a voice cried out, jarring Dumbledore out of his ruminations. "Headmaster," the voice cried again urgently as Madame Pomfrey's head appeared in the fireplace.

"Good evening, Madame Pomfrey, I trust…" Professor Dumbledore began, but could not continue further for Madame Pomfrey's head spoke again, "you must come to the hospital wing immediately." And then vanished, leaving the hearth empty once more.

As Professor Dumbledore rushed out of his office he felt a chill steal over him, something had gone wrong.


	2. First, Do No Harm

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

The lamps were flickering he entered the room. He could see Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall were huddled by the only occupied bed. Dumbledore froze in mid step, as if hit by some hex, when he realized who was lying there. "How long has he been like this?" Dumbledore asked hoarsely, moving up to take his place beside the bed.

"A few hours or more," answered Madame Pomfrey. " I don't know, I can't tell. Miss Granger found him, down by the kitchens. We don't know how he got there," she continued, gesticulating helplessly.

Professor McGonagall spoke, almost whispered "He looks as though he's been attacked by some wild animal ..." she trailed off into silence.

"He was," said Madame Pomfrey, and pulling back the bed sheets to show the worst of the damage, she continued, "he's lost a great deal of blood, and the bites... it carried some sort of poison. Fever has set in ... Albus, I'm sorry, it's only a matter of time. I think ... the teeth and claw marks are consistent with that of a Gryphon. No one has ever survived."

Professor McGonagall closed her eyes at the news and put a hand over her heart as a shudder passed through her. "Oh, Lord." she whispered. She opened her eyes and looked down at the patient, who lay there shivering and oblivious, gripped in the throes of illness. "Oh, Albus," she said her voice cracking with emotion, as the tears began to fall from Professor Dumbledore's eyes.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore sighed, "I've failed you, yet again."

"No, Albus," interrupted Professor McGonagall, attempting to comfort him, to absolve him, "we all know the risks, he knew..."

"That his life was at stake, while we sat in safety," Dumbledore continued harshly, "after years of torture at the hands of Voldemort ..." both Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey winced at the mention of that name, while Dumbledore continued talking. "that he was expendable when compared with the others."

"It was his decision," said Professor McGonagall, feelingly she continued, "a decision we've all made, to face the consequences of our actions."

Dumbledore looked again at the man bleeding and shivering before him while Madame Pomfrey circled the bed doing what little she could to keep him alive. "At eighteen," Dumbledore sighed, his anger spent, "Did he really know what the consequences would be? What the cost would come to? Did he really have a choice?"

"Did you?" questioned Professor McGonagall.

Taking a seat by the bed and wiping a tear away, Headmaster Dumbledore answered her, "No, to give Severus a chance to redeem himself, in my eyes if not his own ... The opportunity to have a spy in Voldemort's court was to rare not to exploit." Dumbledore's right hand formed into a fist at his next words, "the chance that Voldemort could be thwarted in even the slightest way ..." he trailed off, his hand flattening again. "But now..." Dumbledore continued, raising his hand and gesturing towards the bed were Professor Snape lay dying, "is this end really justified?"

A tired silence descended on the room. "Poppy," Dumbledore spoke again at last, a tiny twinkle returning to his eyes, "please go to my office and collect Fawkes, his tears might be able to do some good."

"Headmaster," Madame Pomfrey stammered, "it won't cure him."

"Thank you, Poppy, I am aware of that," Dumbledore said, permitting himself a small smile before continuing, "however, it will buy us time to find something that can." Madame Pomfrey hurried out of the hospital wing, relieved at last to be doing something constructive.

"Minerva," Dumbledore spoke again," would you please fetch Miss Granger. I need her to run an errand for me. If possible, ask her not to dress in her school uniform."

"Now? Albus?" Professor McGonagall asked incredulously.

"Yes, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, "it is of the utmost necessity."

Professor McGonagall made her way over to the open door, yet paused on the threshold. Glancing back towards Dumbledore she spoke, "What will you do?"

Dumbledore answered, "send for help, what choice have I? There is no alternative."

Minerva spoke again, unsure, "What if he won't come?"

"He has to." Dumbledore replied with assuredness.

With that Professor McGonagall continued through the door into the brightly lit hall. As her eyes adjusted, she continued making her way through the school to the Gryffindor common room to deliver the summons. Back in the hospital wing, Dumbledore sat clasping Severus' hand in his own, weeping for the fallen. He whispered through his tears, "He has to."


	3. Out Of The Frying Pan

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

"But why does it have to be me?" Hermione asked her friends mournfully as they made their way down to the hospital wing.

"You sounded a bit like Neville there, Mione." Ron put forth, in an attempt to lighten the mood. In response Hermione threw him an arch look.

"Because," said Harry, "Professor Dumbledore trusts you."

"Because," Ron interrupted, "you know about the Order," Ron caught Hermione's eye, "and Snape," he reminded. The trio paused on the landing and waited for the stairs to shift in their direction.

"Because," continued Harry, "your parents are muggles and you should be able to blend in where you're sent."

"Wherever it is," Ron added.

"What do my parents have to do with anything?" Hermione questioned.

"Think about it, Mione," Harry answered, "Dumbledore specifically said not to wear your uniform … because it would stand out."

"And," Hermione reasoned, "the only place a Hogwarts uniform would look out of place is in the non-magic world." The stairs moved into place, and Hermione, Ron and Harry continued walking.

"It could be anywhere," said Ron, "just think, Mione, if it takes a while, you might get to skip some of your classes."

At these words Harry began to shake his head emphatically, silently mouthing 'No, No' repeatedly trying to get Ron's attention and stop him from going down that path.

Hermione snapped out of her daze. "Oh god, Ron you're right," Hermione exclaimed, "I might be gone for days, even weeks. I'm going to fall behind. What if you learn something really advanced while I'm gone? I'll never catch up," She wailed.

"Breathe, Hermione, just breathe," said Harry rubbing her back, trying to calm her down. "Nice one, mate," Harry said to Ron.

"Well most people would think it was a good thing," Ron replied petulantly.

Harry just rolled his eyes.

By now, Hermione was feeling very out of sorts, feeling hungry on top of everything probably wasn't helping. Hermione had missed dinner in the great hall today, electing instead to work ahead for her Arithmancy class. Which is why, a few hours later, she ended up on her way down to the kitchens where she stumbled over … Hermione slowed, shuddering visibly. "

Mione," Harry asked, "what is it?"

"It's just that image," Hermione replied, "seeing him, lying there … broken, helpless. I don't think I can ever forget it."

"Well," Ron said, "I for one think it couldn't have happened to a more deserving person, 'cept maybe Malfoy."

"Ronald Weasley," Hermione said, placing her hand on his arm and pulling so they were face to face, "don't say that, ever. You didn't see him," she continued walking, "you can't know."

The lamps on the walls began to dim, and the occupants of the paintings they passed readied themselves for bed. "What was Snape doing there anyway?" Ron grumbled. "Shush!" said a painting as the passed.

"Sorry, ma'm," said Harry giving Ron a look.

Ron, looking sheepish, continued in a quieter tone, "I mean, is there some wild animal running lose in the school?" Ron was suddenly struck by a horrifying thought, "Say, you don't think Hagrid had something to do with it, Malfoy'll have a field day if he did."

"I don't think so," Hermione said slowly, forcing herself to think back and remember, "there wasn't that much blood, not on the floor, and there wasn't any damage to the hallway, just to Professor Snape."

Ron spoke while shrugging his shoulders, "Hagrid's in the clear then."

"Voldemort," announced Harry, "Snape must have been on an errand or something for Voldemort, and this was the result."

"Poor bastard," said Ron.

As they reached the infirmary door, Hermione said, in a small voice, "I don't want to go. What if something happens while I'm gone?" Tears began to form in her eyes, "If something happened to you both and I wasn't there …" she trailed off, crying openly.

"Shhh, Mione, shhhh," Harry said, taking Hermione in a gentle hug, gesturing for Ron to do the same; which he did, albeit awkwardly, hugging both Hermione and Harry at the same time. "Shhh, " Harry continued, " nothing's going to happen, Mione, I promise. Ron and I both promise, we'll be safe, and so will you."

"Besides," said Ron, breaking the hug, "you'll probably be back by tomorrow, forget what I said, Professor Dumbledore knows how important your classes are to you," he said teasingly, with a smile.

"Oh, Ron." Hermione said sniffing slightly as she smacked him lightly on the shoulder, tears forgotten for the moment.

The door opened behind them and, looking worn, Professor Dumbledore stepped through, closing it gently behind him. "Ah, Miss Granger, Hermione," Professor Dumbledore said, "come, we have much to discuss. Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley." With a hand resting on her shoulder, Professor Dumbledore steered Hermione down the hallway, away from Harry, Ron, and any other prying ears who happened to be nearby.

"You get the feeling he didn't want us to know about this?" Ron asked, gesturing towards the retreating figures. He continued unanswered, "I feel a bit left out." Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Ron and Harry as she and Professor Dumbledore turned a corner, and, with a quick wave from Harry, they vanished from her sight.

"Hey," said Ron hopefully, another idea having taken hold, "do you think if Mione's responsible for saving Snape's life, he'll stop taking points off Gryffindor? That would be bloody brilliant."

"That'll be the day, Ron," said Harry. With a swift glance at the closed door behind them, the boys began to make their way back to the Gryffindor common, praying they would not encounter Mrs. Norris on their way.

"Well," continued Ron, "it's worth a try isn't it?"

Smiling outwardly at the antics of his friend, Harry said, "Come on Ron," deep inside though, Harry was worried, and not just about Hermione.


	4. Giving The Truth Scope

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

After Dumbledore had informed Hermione of the severity of Professor Snape's injuries, they both fell into silence as they navigated the darkened halls of Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore was organizing his thoughts for the conversation ahead, while Hermione was lost in hers. Hermione was so preoccupied, she barely noticed where Professor Dumbledore was leading her.

'Professor Snape can't die. The Order can't afford to lose anymore people, especially not Snape, he's already suffered so much in the service of the Order. Dark mark aside, most of Snape's suffering remained unknown, but did the adults really expect the younger generation to believe Voldemort wasn't hurting Snape every time he was called. This just proves it once and for all,' fumed Hermione silently, 'Snape had risked his life for them, for Harry. I have to do everything I can to save Snape. We need him. No matter how much Harry and Ron would like to deny it, Snape is important.' Hermione's thoughts at last revealed their true bent. 'If only we had thought of him last year, if only we had trusted him … Sirius might still be alive.'

"Ahem, Miss Granger," Dumbledore's voice penetrated the din of her mind. Hermione blushed slightly when she realized they had reached the door to the Professor's office, she wondered how long they had been standing there. "Mint humbug," Professor Dumbledore announced as his current password. The wall began to slide away revealing a hidden staircase behind it. "Please, after you, Miss Granger," offered Dumbledore politely. Hermione stepped forward through the opening and on to the stairs, Dumbledore followed. As they began their ascent, the wall closed up behind them.

"Please," Dumbledore said again, "have a seat," gesturing towards a chair by his desk. Hermione sat, unwillingly, on the very edge of the seat, both feet planted firmly on the ground and looked around. The majority of the paintings were empty she realized, and quite a few were covered, even Fawkes' perch was abandoned.

'It's as if they realized he needed privacy,' Hermione thought, though she was surprised that they'd given it, the paintings at Hogwarts had developed a reputation for being nosy. Dumbledore then walked around behind his desk, and opening one of the bottom drawers, he gingerly removed a sealed envelope which he then placed on top of his desk.

"Hermione," he spoke as he made his way over to a small cupboard, "as both a teacher and Headmaster here at Hogwarts, it has been my pleasure to encounter some of the finest minds and talents present in the wizarding world, yours included my dear." Dumbledore bestowed a small smile in Hermione's direction before resuming his perusal of the objects contained in the cupboard. Hermione blushed in reaction to such praise from a wizard she greatly admired, glad that Harry and Ron weren't present as they'd never stop teasing her about it. Dumbledore then removed two artifacts, and closing the cupboard, he placed them on the desk next to the envelope.

As Professor Dumbledore began his story, Hermione sat further back in her chair. Dumbledore however remained standing, occasionally pacing the breadth of his office, a sure sign of inner turmoil. "There was one student here, almost fifteen years ago now," Dumbledore shook his head slightly at the passage of time.

While Hermione did a quick calculation in her head, 'he would be twenty six now, whoever it is.'

Dumbledore continued, "this student showed impressive intelligence, talent and power, greater than my own or Voldemort's, or even the two combined. As Mr. Ollivander is so fond of saying, we could expect great things from this boy."

Dumbledore voice grew grave as he continued, "It was later discovered that he had not come by the majority of his magic naturally, through no fault of his own, I assure you. He had had a difficult time here and at the end of his first year he witnessed the death of his parents and his as yet unborn brother. These events took place shortly after his eleventh birthday. Voldemort was later found to be responsible. Unfortunately, several days passed before the tragedy came to light. Days he had been forced to spend in an abandoned house with the corpses of his parents," Dumbledore said bluntly, trying to hammer the point home.

"Oh, God," said Hermione, bile rising in her throat at the thought, she swallowed it down with a grimace. "How could that have happened?" Hermione questioned.

"It was a hectic and exciting time," Dumbledore replied, sighing, "remember our history, Miss Granger, think back," he instructed, "fifteen years ago, you would have been one year old, as would Mr. Weasley, as would Mr. Potter …" he trailed off.

"Harry," Hermione thought, suddenly realizing what Dumbledore was referring to, "you mean…" she asked.

"That very night," said Professor Dumbledore, sighing again. "Very few people know the specifics pertaining to that night and what happened after Voldemort encountered Harry. I am not one of them," Dumbledore said forestalling further questioning from Hermione.

"As a result," Dumbledore said returning to the story at hand, "that pupil began to form an intense dislike towards magic of all kinds, both evil and good. This hatred for all things magical was compounded by the increasing difficulties the child was facing here at school."

"Why didn't anyone do anything?" queried Hermione feeling a pang of sympathy for the unnamed boy. Hermione, too, felt out of place at Hogwarts from time to time. Remembering her first year there, before the troll encounter and her friendship with Ron and Harry, she felt a stirring of empathy as well, thinking, 'how horrible it would be to go through seven years friendless and alone.'

"Believe me, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore interrupting her reflections, "it was only through the dedication and perseverance of one professor that the child managed to graduate at all."

"Professor Snape?" Hermione guessed, thinking to herself the boy must have been Slytherin to earn Snape's help.

"Yes," said Dumbledore with a twinkle in his eye as he remembered times past, "though not without bloodshed and bruised egos, I assure you."

Dumbledore's expression turned serious once more. "It was after his graduation ceremony that he approached me with a request," another twinkle formed and passed from Dumbledore's eyes as he continued, "more of a demand really. He informed me that he had made his decision, he was finished with magic and wanted out of the wizarding world."

Hermione gasped quietly at this twist in the tale, 'how horrible his life must have become to run so far in an attempt to escape it.'

Dumbledore continued unheeding of the interruption, "He wanted to live out the rest of his days as a muggle, attending college, choosing a career, turning his back to our entire existence. However," Professor Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders, "to do so he needed my help; to get established in their world, and though I was reluctant, I gave it. A few days later he was gone and, to my knowledge he has never returned. I gave my word that I would protect his identity, should Voldemort return or a new evil rise, he would be left out of it."

Dumbledore squared his shoulders, "I am in the process of breaking that oath, and though it troubles me, I hold that it must be done for the greater good. You must understand Miss Granger, you cannot tell anyone, you cannot repeat a word of this to any of your friends. The content of this conversation, of you mission, must remain forever undisclosed, for safety's sake."

"Of course, Professor," said Hermione, slightly miffed that Dumbledore would suspect her of gossiping. 'Still,' she thought, 'it will be hard not share this with Harry, Ron and Ginny. I hope they understand."

Dumbledore dipped a quill into the inkwell on his desk and began to write something on a spare piece of parchment. "Do not read this until you've arrived," he instructed, handing her the parchment. "He will require persuading, Hermione, he will not come easily. This," Dumbledore pointed to the envelope, "contains a letter from me, describing the situation, in case he doesn't believe you; only use it as a last resort." Hermione picked up the letter, folded it and placed it in the pocket of her jeans next to the parchment. "This," Professor Dumbledore picked up a shiny metal hair pin and positioned it carefully in her hair, "is your key back to Hogwarts, you must be in physical contact with him when you touch the butterfly's wing in order to carry you both." Dumbledore gestured towards to final item he had removed from the cupboard.

Hermione looked closely at it's familiar shape, " a pencil sharpener?" she asked. "Your port key," Dumbledore replied, "touch the blade carefully, it is still quite sharp."

"Oh, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said, stopping her as she reached for the pencil sharpener, "you might also find this useful." At that he reached into the left hand pocket of his robe and pulled out a chain, at the bottom of which hung a time turner. "You never know," Dumbledore said as he put the necklace over her head, "when you will need a little more time," he finished with a half smile. "Good Luck," he said. Hermione reached again for the sharpener, closing her eyes when she felt the now familiar tug at her belly button. She vanished from Dumbledore's office leaving a very worried headmaster in her wake.

Hermione opened her eyes and stepped back in shock. She turned full circle, unaware of how foolish she might look, in an attempt to get her bearings and take in her new surroundings.

'The sights, the sounds, ye gods, even the temperature.' Hermione reached into her right hand pocket and pulled out the parchment Professor Dumbledore had given her, at last reading the two words written there. "You know," Hermione grumbled out loud, while taking a decisive step towards the building in front of her, "he could have been a bit more forthcoming."


	5. In The Jailhouse Now

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, or anything contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

'POLICE STATION' read the lettering over the glass doors. In the few minutes it had taken Hermione to navigate through the parking lot, the sky had grown considerably lighter. 'Almost sunrise,' Hermione thought, noticing that the bright lights off in the distance were finally beginning to dim, 'and I thought New York was the city that never slept.' "Ah, well," she said, bracing herself, "here goes nothing," as she pushed open the door and walked into the foyer. 'It's nice,' she thought, not really expecting that from a police station, 'a little sparse furniture wise, but very clean, bright and … cold. The plants in the corner, for instance, looked like they could use at least a week long visit to Professor Sprout's greenhouse. Maybe it wasn't so nice.'

'However,' Hermione thought, 'the fact that they were able to grow anything in this climate is a testament to their dogged perseverance,' she paused, 'or their stupidity. Why would anyone choose to live here?' Hermione pondered this as a faint buzzing reached her ears. She moved out of the doorway and over to one of the plastic chairs, choosing one facing the receptionist. Hermione looked around trying to pin point the source of the increasingly annoying buzzing. The receptionist, Hermione noticed, appeared to be holding a one-sided conversation, with the air. 'Arg,' Hermione grimaced, looking up at last and squinting, 'fluorescent lights.' Hermione shrugged and shuddered repeatedly, fluorescent lights always made her twitchy. She froze when she realized the receptionist was watching her.

"Um. Hi," said Hermione, standing and trying to cover her embarrassment, she walked over to the desk. Strangely Hermione's display hadn't evinced much of a reaction from the receptionist. 'Then again,' Hermione reasoned, 'she does talk to invisible people, she's not really in a position to throw stones.'

"Good morning, my name is Rachel. How can help you?"

Hermione was about to reply when Rachel began talking again. Hermione tuned her out, rolled her eyes and bit her lip, 'what if there are invisible people … Stop it, Hermione,' she chastised, 'you've been spending too much time with Luna,' Hermione looked around again, 'it's making you paranoid.'

"Hi there, how can I help you?" Rachel spoke again. Hermione just stood silently, contemplating the nature of invisibility. "Hello?" said Rachel, waiving her hand in front of Hermione's face, "are you alright? You look a little pale."

"It was just a … rough landing," covered Hermione. "Do you know if this person works here?" asked Hermione, straight to business as usual. She took out the parchment and handed it to the receptionist.

"Not really," Rachel replied, she raised her hands, palms facing up and shrugged her shoulders, the universal gesture for 'I Don't Know', "I'm a temp, actually, just for a few days, thank God." Hermione heard the door to the outside open and close but didn't turn around. "You know," continued Rachel lowering her voice to a conspiratorial tone, "the labs here deal in some pretty freaky shiii-oops. Sorry, ma'm," Rachel directed that last comment, rather sheepishly, to the woman now standing behind Hermione.

"Rachel, right?" the woman asked brusquely, "how many times have a I told you, don't call 'ma'm'", she continued with mocking sternness, "Catherine might be okay with it, but I'm really not that old, am I?" she asked with a smile as she reached for the sign-in log book. "Grissom's not back yet?" she questioned as she scanned the sheet, frowning slightly as she signed it.

"I don't think so, Miss Sidle. I haven't seen him, I could phone his office and check for you…"

"No, that's alright," the woman sighed and finally noticed Hermione standing there, looking out of place. "New intern? I'm Sara," the woman introduced herself, "you're here kinda early, night shift hasn't ended yet, but that's good Ecklie a stickler for that kind of thing."

"I'm always early," said Hermione, "it's a point of pride and that came off sounding really pathetic, didn't it?"

"Don't worry about it," Sara said, commiserating, "I get that all the time. Some people just don't get having pride in you work. You know maybe you should switch to night shift, I think you'd enjoy working for Grissom more than Ecklie," in an aside just to Hermione, "no one really likes working for Ecklie." Sara walked away from the desk and over to a door that, presumably, led to the labs the receptionist had mentioned earlier. "Come on," Sara said eagerly, opening the door, waiting for Hermione to go through.

"Actually," Hermione began, feeling guilty at having misled the woman, unintentional though it had been, "I'm not an …" however, before she could clear up Sara's misconception, the receptionist interrupted.

"I thought you were looking for someone." Rachel said, her voice rising in accusation, waiving the parchment in the air as proof.

"Sorry about that, I'm not an intern," Hermione said apologetically, grabbing the parchment from the receptionist's still waiving hand, "my name is Hermione, and I am looking for someone. It's very important, do you know where I can find him?" she asked, handing Sara the paper.

'That's odd,' Sara thought, looking up at Hermione and then back down at the paper, to examine it more closely, 'old paper, thick too; more like parchment, that's hard to come by, and the writing, you don't see that everyday. I wonder what kind of ink it is …'

"Huh," Sara grunted.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, "don't you know him?" she continued worriedly.

"No, that's not it," Sara reassured her, "he does work here. I'm just surprised is all." Sara gestured again at the open door, this time Hermione entered without hesitation, followed closely by Sara.

"Oh wait, Miss Sidle," began Rachel the receptionist, as the door clicked shut, "she needs to sign in." she finished lamely, deflated. 'Ah, well' she thought as she pushed a blinking button on one of the machines on her desk. "Good Morning, my name is Rachel. How can I help you. Hold please."

On the other side of the door Sara began to lead Hermione through the labyrinthine halls and continued talking, "surprised that any girl would get up this early just for Greg." Sara handed the parchment back to Hermione, all the while itching to keep a hold of it and analyze it's composition. Hermione read again the name Dumbledore had written there; Greg Sanders.

"Well," said Hermione hoping to stick to the truth as much as possible, "Strictly speaking we haven't met, what does he do here?"

Sara replied, eyeing Hermione, a bit dismayed, "you haven't … um he's a lab tech. He would say he's an aspiring CSI," she amended, "but mainly he's a lab tech. You haven't met?" she asked incredulously, 'curiouser and curiouser,' she thought.

"What's a CSI?" asked Hermione, deflecting Sara's question and falling easily in a familiar role, that of the inquisitive youth.

"Crime Scene Investigator, you know Criminalistics, Forensics, that sort of thing. You seriously haven't met him?" Sara asked again, never one to let go.

"Right, well," Hermione paused inventing on the spot, "he attended my school, and … a few of the teachers and students are in town; and they, the teachers, were wondering if he could stop by; tell us how he's doing, give a lecture; you know alumni things. They might also ask him for money." Hermione offered weakly, cringing at how stupid her story sounded. 'God, she'll never believe this.'

"And they sent you …" Sara queried, still trying to puzzle Hermione out. "Everyone else was tired, from the flight, and I'd never seen a lab before so I volunteered. Are you a CSI?" Hermione asked in an attempt to change the subject.

"Yeah," answered Sara coldly, "I started in San Francisco, then transferred here a while back."

The two continued walking in an uncomfortable silence. "Wonderful,' thought Hermione, 'I'm lying to a police officer, or as good as. I'm a criminal in a foreign country. Aagghhh!' The ladies had just walked past an office overflowing with bizarre artefacts, most of which were floating in jars of formaldehyde. It succeed in diverting Hermione's thoughts to the more mundane. 'I'm glad Hogwarts doesn't have a biology class,' Hermione thought as her stomach rolled, complaining that it was, in fact, still empty, 'I don't think I could take it.'

'Hmm,' thought Sara Sidle as they reached the DNA lab, 'I've got to keep my eye on this girl, something's off about her.'


	6. Exit Stage Left, Pursued By A Bear

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

Through the glass walls, Hermione could see a man in lab coat with, it could only be described as, crazy hair, 'honestly, it looks as though it's trying to revolt,' Hermione thought as she tried to discern what the man was occupied with. 'It's a toss up between mixing chemicals and having a seizure? … Or' Hermione reasoned as Sara opened the door the the enclosure and loud punk music filled the hall, 'he could be dancing.' Hermione smiled as she watched.

"Yo, Sara," a man shouted from further down the hall, in an attempt to be heard over the din. "Come on, you need to clock out," he yelled again.

"I'll be there in a minute, Nick," Sara shouted back. Sara then opened her mouth to pursue her investigation of Hermione when the man, Nick, yelled again.

"Sara, you haven't been cleared for overtime. Do you want to get in trouble with Griss?"

"Fine," said Sara loudly, then growled under her breath, a thunderous look appearing on her face. Nick took that as his cue to disappear. Sara turned away from Hermione, and stomped down the hall, both hands clenching into fists. She paused momentarily and yelled over her shoulder at Hermione,

"Greg's in there," she gestured towards the lab then resumed stomping down the hall, heading after Stokes.

'Glad I'm not that guy. Still they must do pretty important work to be so stressed out. At least Greg seems like he's still finding the fun.' Hermione thought as the hall suddenly became blessedly silent and empty.

Hermione moved towards the open door quietly, choosing to observe Greg a little more before interrupting him. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee leached out the door, overpowering the various chemicals present in the lab. Hermione breathed the scent in deeply. "Sara," Greg acknowledged without turning around, still preoccupied with his chemicals, "If you're here for you prints, they're not done running through AFIS, things got backed up, sorry. Oh, tell Catherine that hair she pulled off her DB isn't human, it's feles domestica." He paused waiting for her to comment. "Come on, guess," he said playfully.

"Housecat, do you know what breed?" Hermione said thinking of Crookshanks. She had no idea how to discover his breeding, 'but if there was a scientific way, maybe he would teach her.'

Greg turned at the sound of her voice, "You're not Sara," he realized.

"Not even a little," Hermione replied, snorting.

Greg looked around shiftily for witnesses, finding none he spoke again, pleading, "I don't suppose I can convince to forget all that stuff I just said."

"Maybe," said Hermione coyly, "if you'll tell me what AFIS is ?"

Greg looked Hermione up and down, cocked his eyebrow and summoned a flirtatious grin to his face. "New intern?" he asked slyly.

'Given the level of tension in this place I'm not surprised they go through so many interns,' Hermione thought, though she was bemused by Greg's overt flirting.

"What's AFIS?" she asked again, entering the room and dodging his question for the time being.

Greg was intrigued, 'she seems genuinely interested, wow.' Greg walked around the lab pointing out the various instruments and machines used in the examination and evaluation of forensic evidence. "AFIS stands for Automated Fingerprint Identification System." Greg was warming to his subject, "CODIS stands for Combined DNA Index Systems, basically aids in the identification of blood and tissue, so we can find it's source. This a mass spectrometer … gas chromatograph … fume hood … and Luminol, it's used to detect blood on scene after it's been cleaned."

A whole new field of research possibilities was opening up for Hermione, 'there's so much I don't know,' Hermione thought a bit embarrassed by that fact. "Blood, huh," said Hermione, her stomach rolling again, "is there usually a great deal of that lying around?"

Greg grimaced remembering his own encounters with crime scenes. "Yeah," he said softly, "there tends to be," he sighed. Then smiled bemusedly to himself, "so how old are you ? And why are you here? And don't say you're an intern," he raised his arms in a sweeping gesture, to encapsulate the room and it's contents, "if you were, you'd at least know the basics."

"I never said I was an intern," Hermione said almost primly, she continued, "I'm sixteen, and … I'm here to see you." At that Hermione shut the door and leaned against it, blocking Greg's only avenue of exit. Greg was too caught up in the middle part of Hermione's statement and it's implications, to register the latter; or her subsequent actions.

'Only sixteen, damn,' he thought, then noticed the shut door, Hermione new position as doorstop, and the tense look now residing on her face.

"Really though, I'm seventeen," she continued in an effort to be truthful, "I always forget that year with the time turner."

Uncomprehending he repeated, "time turner?" Then Greg's eyes widened at the shock of the revelation, he closed his eyes in an attempt to deny it.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said, raising her hand to shake his in greeting, "I'm from Hogwarts."

At the mention of his alma matter, Greg's eyes snapped open and his face froze in an expression of loathing normally reserved for something truly vile and despicable. "Get out, Witch," Greg ordered, sneering violently as the word 'witch' passed his lips.

'So much for this being easy,' Hermione thought. She slowly lowered her proffered hand; gone was the eager young gentleman from moments before, in his place stood an angry, arrogant man spitting fire and ice.

'Definitely Slytherin." Hermione thought as Greg tried to force the door open; unnoticed the parchment with Greg's name written on it fell to the floor in the ensuing struggle. Using God only knew what power, Hermione, managed to repel him, fiercely scratching his hand in the process. "Not until you listen to what I have to say," She commanded with anger of her own. "We need your help, I would not be here otherwise," Hermione's voice was tight with emotion, "You have to come back to Hogwarts with me."

"Yeah, that's going to happen," Greg said sarcastically, throwing himself into his chair, looking for all the world like a petulant child.

Hermione relaxed slightly, then mentally chided herself for doing so, 'this is still a sticky situation, you can relax when you are back at Hogwarts, not before.' "If you'll just listen …" Hermione began again.

Greg laughed and said coldly, "Nothing you say could convince me to go back there, you're risking your life coming here, is it worth it?"

"Professor Snape is hurt, he needs you," Hermione wailed. "Oh you're good," he mocked, while slowing clapping his hand at her 'performance', "hitting just the right note of panic, quite believable."

"It's the truth," Hermione said, tears forming in her eyes, 'why won't he believe me,' "Dumbledore sent me."

"Here? That's rich," Greg continued in a sotto voice, "what's the matter, Dumbledore getting anxious? War not going well? What a pity."

"No, frankly it's not, but that's not why I'm here," Hermione tried to gather her wits and fabricate a convincing argument.

He spoke again, "And how do I even know which side you're on, who you're working for?" Greg stood up from the chair and began to advance towards her, menacingly, "You could be in the service of Voldemort."

Hermione's eyes widened at Greg's use of that name, 'he's not afraid of Voldemort, then why is he stalling? What is he afraid of?' Greg continued talking, "oh yes, you'd make an excellent lure, all fresh and innocent, at least on the outside." Greg had backed Hermione right up against the door and leaned over her, blocking her escape. Hermione's heart began to race at his close proximity.

"Tell me," Greg whispered softly, slyly in her ear, "where did he put the dark mark?" He moved back slightly to catch her eye and smirk. Greg knew his attempts at intimidation were having an effect on Hermione, 'just one more push, she'll crack and I can get the hell out of here.'

Hermione latched onto the first thing that came to mind, desperate to stop a bad situation from becoming worse. She said, "I've got proof. I've got a note from Dumbledore."

Greg pushed away from the door, throwing his hands up in frustration, he laughed caustically, "well, that just clears everything right up, she's got a note," he said to no one in particular. Hermione's heartbeat slowly returned to normal.

Giving her a pointed look, Greg continued as though talking to a simpleton, "what does it say?"

"I don't know," Hermione took a step away from the door and reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the still sealed envelope. She held it aloft for him to take, "It's for you," she said.

"Oh, Gods. A Gryffindor." Greg slumped again in the chair, leaned back and laughed humourlessly, "I should have guessed," he sneered. He reached over, and turned on the radio, turning down the volume control, . The Smiths, 'How soon is now' filled the room.

"A true Hufflepuff," Greg continued dryly, "would have had the grace to look embarrassed at being accused of snooping, something they would never, ever do. A true Slytherin, on the other hand, would know it's content, by fair means or foul, and having evaluated it's worth would either lie or tell the truth, whichever would hold the greatest benefit for them. A true Ravenclaw, now they would know exactly what was written in that letter, probably word for word, without ever having opened it; all those extra grey cells floating about. That leaves us with Gryffindor." Greg continued in a melodramatic tone, "brave and loyal, stupid and blind," he sneered again. Hermione's hands tightened involuntarily into fists, accidentally crushing the letter in question. Her already frayed temper snapped in the wake of this vitriol.

"That's it!," Hermione shouted, then in a cold voice that brooked no opposition, she continued, "I've had enough of you, insulting me, insulting Dumbledore, when all we've done is ask you for help. I'm sure you've got reasons, but I really don't care. I'm tired, hungry, half way across the bloody world, and traumatized to boot because I'm the one that found Snape unconscious and bleeding in a corridor. I don't need you behaving like an ass, on top of all that. If Professor Snape didn't need you so badly, I'd hex you and be done with it. Now, you are going to read this note, then you are going to come back to Hogwarts and do whatever is necessary to save Professor Snape. And if I hear one more word out of you I won't be held responsible of my actions." At this Hermione reached out and grabbed Greg's hand; forced it open and slammed the letter down into it.

The second Greg's and Hermione's hands were both in contact with Dumbledore's letter, Hermione's eyes widened in shock; and Greg, realizing what was happening, opened his mouth to scream "NO," when they both vanished simultaneously from the lab.

A few minutes later, the door opened slightly and a woman poked her head in asking, "Greg, I was wondering if you'd gotten the results off that hair I gave you …" She trailed off, looking around the notably deserted room, thinking 'huh, must've cut out early.' She walked over to the desk and began rifling through the papers, searching for her test results.

"So, Greg," Sara said before entering, 'tell me about you're new friend." Having told off Nick, and had a quick shower, Sara felt her temperament had vastly improved. She was almost prepared to give mystery girl, Hermione Granger the benefit of the doubt. Entering the room, Sara noticed the absence of Greg and the girl, and the presence of Catherine.

"Where's Sanders?" Sara questioned the older woman.

"Vanished," Catherine Willows, deadpanned.

"Very funny," Sara said, her voice heavily laced with sarcasm. 'That's odd, radio's on,' Sara walked over to the radio and was about to turn it off when she noticed the full cup of coffee sitting of to one side.

Sara picked up the cup tentatively, half expecting Greg to jump out at her and warn her away from his sacred brew. She took a small sip and grimaced. The coffee burned as it traveled down her throat, releasing a strong shot of caffeine in it's wake.

"This coffee's still hot," Sara observed.

Catherine just shrugged her shoulders, deeply absorbed in trying to interpret the findings without Greg's help. Her suspicious instincts kicking into overdrive, Sara turned and regarded the room, searching for anything else out of place. Looking over at the doorway, she noticed a folded piece of paper on the floor. Crouching down beside it, she quickly identified it as the parchment that girl had been holding earlier. While down there, Sara noticed something far more sinister.

"Cath," she said, "there's blood on the floor."


	7. Sound The Battle Cry

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages. No infringement is intended.)

* * *

The room was almost deserted, a rare occurrence to be sure. He was thankful, otherwise he would not have been able to sense the coming change. He allowed himself a small smile and focused his eyes on the corner of the room before reclaiming his post. The air was shimmering. It was quite faint, almost unnoticeable really. One would overlook it completely if one did not know what to look for, and where.

"Oof!" Hermione felt her hip slam against the corner of the bed. She struggled to support the near dead weight of Greg slumped against her when they had both materialized. Greg took his arm off her shoulder and, bracing it against the frame of the bed, pushed away, attempting to stand on his own.

"Sorry 'bout that," Greg said blushing, "it's been a long time since I had to do that."

Hermione, utterly oblivious, stated worriedly, "I didn't know this was going to happen, I swear."

Greg blinked, and took in his surroundings, scowling, "sure you didn't. What happened to _hexing_ me yourself'?" he asked dryly.

It was dark in the room, much darker than Hermione could ever remember it being. 'But it's morning…' Hermione pondered. The windows all were shuttered; the curtains tightly closed. 'They've blocked out the sun,' Hermione gasped as the situation became clear.

"We're too late," she whispered hoarsely, overcome by emotion. Hermione's eyes darted around the room, unseeing. Tears formed as her sight focused first on Greg, his face frozen in fear, and then on the bed, behind the closed screens. "We're too late," she whispered again, the tears freely falling, unheeded.

'Not again," Greg thought, imprisoned in his memories, 'I can't do this again.' Greg moved forward slowly, almost against his will, towards the screened bed. Greg grasped the edge of the screen, inhaling deeply and screwing his eyes shut at what might be revealed, he exhaled sharply as he pushed the screen off to the side.

Dumbledore stood quietly as the screen clattered to the floor, and looking past the man who stood before him, searched the darkness of the room. "Ah, Miss Granger, you've returned." Professor Dumbledore moved away from the bed, allowing Greg and Hermione an unencumbered view of the occupant.

Hermione closed her eyes and relaxed, 'I haven't failed,' she thought regaining her composure. As Professor Snape's chest rose and fell, drawing breath after breath, Greg snapped out of his daze enough to glare in Dumbledore's direction.

Professor Dumbledore accepted his gaze with calm equanimity, "Gregori," Dumbledore spoke at last, "It's good to see you."

Greg rolled his eyes at the overture, "oddly enough, I didn't seem to have much choice in the matter." Hermione avoided Greg's searching look as it swept over her.

Dumbledore sighed, "nevertheless," Dumbledore said, as Greg moved closer to Snape's bedside, "it is good that you are here."

Greg reached out and gently held his hand against Professor Snape's forehead, wincing at the chill he felt there. "You don't have much time," Dumbledore prodded. Greg pulled his hand away fast, as though Snape had caught fire.

Greg turned to face Professor Dumbledore, his eyes tight with pain, "What do you expect me to do?" he asked, belligerently.

'So much torment, and this time at my behest,' Dumbledore acknowledged silently, feeling pangs of remorse, "you'll think of something, I'm sure," said Dumbledore confidently, "ingenuity, innovation and," Professor Dumbledore paused, searching for the correct word, smiling as he discovered it, "and invention always were a particular talent of yours."

Greg growled under his breath at the oblique reference to his history.

"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore ordered gently, "perhaps it would be best for you to return to the Gryffindor tower, to recuperate."

Hermione was somewhat stung by this abrupt dismissal and stood rooted to the floor, "Sir, perhaps I could …,"

Hermione was cut off by Dumbledore's assertion, "rest, Miss Granger." Dumbledore began to herd Greg towards the exit, leaving Greg no choice but to follow.

As Greg brushed past Hermione he smirked, and leaning over he whispered in her ear, "I told you, you were just a lure." With that parting shot, Professor Dumbledore led Greg out of the hospital wing, heading towards an undisclosed location.

Madame Pomfrey entered the infirmary only moments after Dumbledore had exited with Greg in tow. She was in the process of opening the windows and dowsing the lamps when she noticed Hermione sitting, in the chair Dumbledore had so recently vacated, at Professor Snape's side. Hermione was staring intently at the patient, as though trying to will him into health between yawns.

"Visiting our patient, Miss Granger?" Madame Pomfrey asked quietly.

Hermione almost jumped in fright, her concentration shattered. "Yes, erm," Hermione began, "how is he?" she asked lamely, cringing inwardly.

"Not well," replied Madame Pomfrey frustrated, "if he continues losing blood .... and, besides the phoenix tears, nothing I've tried has worked," continued Madame Pomfrey, "he's not healing, he's just lingering. Frankly, it's a wonder he's lasted this long," she finished, almost resigned.

"His magic, it's strong," Hermione stated with assurance, "I think that's the key, it's keeping him alive, barely. If it had been a muggle who was attacked, they wouldn't have stood a chance; death would have been instantaneous. However, with regards to Professor Snape, well it's like you said, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione was struck by sudden insight, "he's lingering; the forces at work inside him, they're balanced, it could still go either way. We just need something to tip the scales in the right direction."

Madame Pomfrey was discomfited by the seeming nonsense Hogwarts prize pupil was currently spouting. "Theories are all well and good, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey spoke sharply, "but, and it pains me no end to say this, we have no aid to give. No one has ever survived a gryphon attack."

"Not yet," said Hermione, grinning, with a feverish gleam in her eye, "Snape will, he must. He has promises to keep."

Hermione stood abruptly and marched towards the door.

"Miss Granger. Where are you going?" asked Madame Pomfrey, concerned by the abrupt turn of events.

Hermione paused in the doorway, "to my room, to sleep. Professor Dumbledore was right," Hermione replied faintly, drained by her revelation, "I need to rest."

"Would you like a sleeping potion, dear?" questioned Madame Pomfrey, attributing Hermione's previous behaviour to nervous exhaustion.

Hermione yawned as she replied, "No thank you. I'm almost tired enough to fall asleep right here." Yawning again, Hermione continued walking out of the infirmary and on through the halls. Around her students and paintings bustled with the usual weeks end energy. Hermione was oblivious to it all.

'Rest first,' Hermione thought sleepily, 'then research. The library has to have books on Gryphons, something everyone else has overlooked, probably in a footnote somewhere,' Hermione grumbled, 'people never stop to read the footnotes.'

Hermione stopped walking, and looked up, startled at her whereabouts. She had reached Gryffindor tower without paying any attention at all to her surroundings. 'You're just lucky you didn't run into any Slytherins,' Hermione's inner voice chided, sounding an awful lot like Mrs. Weasley, 'you'd have been no match for them, the state you're in.'

"Late night, dear?" the Fat Lady asked, interrupting Hermione's inner monologue, well aware that Hermione had been decidedly elsewhere for most of the night.

Hermione stared bleary eyed at the figure in the painting, 'is it just me or does she look eager for …. stupid, gossipy paintings.'

"I was at the hospital wing," Hermione said adamantly, "ask Madame Pomfrey."

"I'm sure you were dear," said the Fat Lady, with a knowing smile, clearly not believing a word Hermione had said, "password?" asked the Fat Lady, finally getting down to business.

Hermione sighed, 'fate, it seems, is not without a sense of irony.' "Feles domestica," she announced, and the door swung open, allowing Hermione to escape the prying eyes of the door's guardian. Hermione's thoughts quickly returned to their previous train, 'rest, then research.'

Hermione's voice echoed as the door clicked shut behind her, sealing her within the safety of the Gryffindor quarters, "I'll show him."

* * *

A/N: Please Review ;-}


	8. And Still, I Fall

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages. No infringement is intended.)

* * *

"Wait," Greg said pausing the instant they had vacated the hospital wing. Greg gestured to his clothes, most of which looked decidedly out of place. "Granted," he continued wryly, "it is the weekend and the dress code here does tend towards eccentricity, but a lab coat is sure to catch someone's notice."

Dumbledore held his wand aloft and mumbling indecipherably under his breath, pointed it at Greg's coat. The lab coat in question began to lengthen and loosen, transfiguring into a set of robes; Something the students and staff, should any be encountered, would be less likely to question.

"Very nice," pronounced Headmaster Dumbledore, admiring his wand work.

Greg looked down at the robes and rolled his eyes, "very funny," he sneered.

Dumbledore had transformed the hue of the coat from dark blue to a deep forrest green, complete with gold trim around the edges. Greg shut his eyes to the sight and, summoning a look of fierce concentration to his face, the cloak began to alter once more. The finished product was entirely black, not unlike Professor Snape's school robes; with a deep hood which Greg proceeded to raise, hiding his features completely.

Professor Dumbledore shrugged his shoulders as they resumed walking, thinking, 'to each his own.' Despite the fact that the words were unspoken between them, Dumbledore continued aloud, "though I do think the hood is a tad unnecessary."

"You'll pardon me if I don't take you at your word," Greg said pointedly.

The unlikely duo continued to navigate the halls of Hogwarts, mysteriously managing to avoid crossing the paths of any of it's other residents. "Your doing, I suppose," Greg accused coldly, referring to the deserted hallways. Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in silent response.

"Of course," Greg went on, "what's a little manipulation between a trusted authority figure and his charges."

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed, "Gregori ..." he began only to be interrupted by Greg.

"Save it," Greg said dismissively.

They had reached the grand staircases. Dumbledore moved forward onto the nearest, as it began to shift slowly he realized Greg had not followed. Professor Dumbledore turned to the cloaked figure in askance.

Greg called out quietly, "if we're going to do this, I need to pick up a few things. Snape's not going to have them."

Dumbledore called back, worriedly, "are you certain you can find the way? The castle has changed since you were here last," he warned as the stairs transported him further away.

Greg scowled as he whispered bitterly in reply, "not enough."

Looking around, Greg sized up the staircase most likely to deposit him at his preferred destination. He walked up the stairs oblivious to their movement, muttering under his breath, "useless bloody wizards," dreading the moments to come. Having ascending the staircase safely, Greg reached for the handle of the door in front of him, and pushed wincing as the door creaked open. Lamplight flared in the darkened hall and stepping through, Greg coughed at the dust disturbed by the closing door.

Taking in it's obvious disuse, he sighed, and thought disparagingly, 'nice to see the elves keeping up on their housework.' Looking to the right, he turned left and traveled down the corridor; passing the dusty statues and cobweb filled doorways. Greg halted in front of a particularly dusty painting and pulled back his hood. He raised his arm and used the sleeve of the robe to try and clear it off, filled with trepidation at what he would uncover.

The painting revealed was atypical to those normally found gracing the walls of Hogwarts; it was neither a still life nor a portrait. The background of the artwork was filled with a dark, almost sinister, forrest. Those more versed with the grounds of the school would recognize it as a seldom explored clearing in the Forbidden Forrest. The foreground was occupied by two warriors mid-battle. Bleeding and broken the opponents circled each other in endless conflict.

Under Greg's horrified gaze the serpent struck out at the lion, viciously sinking his fangs into the flesh and muscle of it's left shoulder. The lion roared in response, causing Greg to wince slightly in sympathy.

"Been at this long?" Greg spat out, voice brimming with sarcasm. The lion twisted it's back, clawing at the snake with it's fore right paw in retaliation. The lion embedded a claw deep in the thick skin of the serpent and raked it down causing the snake to release the feline's shoulder, shrieking with pain.

The lion limped off to the side of the clearing and licking his fresh wound, he growled out a response to Greg's inquiry, "since you've returned. This you know."

Greg bared his teeth in a similar fashion, "then stop!" he ordered. The combatants ignored him, making ready to attack once more.

"Make us," the snake hissed as it coiled itself, preparing to strike.

Greg turned away from the display in vehement disgust, "it ends where it began," he whispered in anguish.

The lion and snake froze in mid attack as the door creaked open. Greg stepped quickly across the threshold, brushing the cobwebs away from his face, he shuddered as the door clicked shut and the violence resumed. It slowly faded from his awareness when he realized at last, at long last, he was finally alone and away from prying eyes.

Without bothering to check if the wards placed on the room still held, Greg returned to Hogwarts completely and did as he had always done upon entering this room, he broke down. Screaming as though his life was being ripped from him, he fell to the floor, uncaring that he bashed his knees in the process. Greg barely registered it as painful sobs wracked his body; his tears staining the floor. Fully collapsing, Greg curled now, clinging to his body, trapping himself within his mind, reliving the horror of this day and days past. His body flinched with remembered pain as the memories unfolded.

**** flashback ****

Crack! The sound echoed. 'No!' shouted Greg's mind, his body too shaken to even voice the protest. Trapped in the hidden passage he pounded and kicked, lashing out uselessly at the walls around him.

**** flash forward ****

Boom! Greg screamed as the explosion overtook him, fire raged, ravaging his body, propelling him into merciful unconsciousness. He'd been groggy every time he'd woken up. A week had passed since the accident and they were still drugging him.

'Accident! Ha!' An innocuous euphemism if ever he'd heard one, 'but that's what they're calling it know that they know it wasn't my fault.'

He'd read it in their faces; in the questions they'd asked. They thought it was his fault; that something he'd done had destroyed the lab, and nearly destroyed himself in the process. They'd come right after he'd been treated, Warrick and Catherine, both armed with sympathy faces when all they'd really wanted was to pick his brain.

'Someone should set them on fire and then pester them with alarmingly stupid questions when they're trying not to pass out from the pain.' Greg fumed childishly, now fully awake in his hospital bed.

And then Cath had returned, claiming guilt because she, in fact had been at fault.

'Oh yes,' Greg mocked, 'so sorry for almost killing you, and leaving you permanently disfigured, oh the tragedy…' After a paltry show of remorse, in Greg's opinion, Catherine had trundled back to work without a care in the world; leaving him trapped in this bed. Greg made a fist with his left hand and slammed it on the bed in a fit of pique. His entire body screamed in protest against any further movement.

"I'm pleased to see you've finally learned to control your temper," a familiar voice said dryly, from the darkness of the room.

Greg screwed his eyes shut as the lamp on his bedside table was turned on, keeping the darkness at bay with electric light. "Sod off," Greg mumbled as his eyes adjusted to the new level of illumination.

"Careful boy," the accented voice continued in it's mocking vein, "your roots are showing."

Greg's eyes snapped open when he identified the owner of the voice, and scanned the room. "Snape?" he asked hesitantly, voicing a name he had not spoken, had not thought of for the past eight years, bewildered he continued, "why are you … how did you … what are you wearing?"

Snape pursed his lips, "I couldn't very well be seen in my wizarding robes here," he responded sarcastically.

"No, of course not," said Greg with a hint of a smile, "it's just a bit disconcerting."

"Imaging how I feel," Professor Snape said snidely, gesturing towards Greg in his hospital gown.

Greg kept talking as though he hadn't heard, "that definitely is you colour though," he said as a cheeky grin appeared on his face, "makes you look … less sallow." S

nape rolled his eyes, "you're not exactly in the pink of health yourself, you know. Care to explain that?"

Greg sighed and responded petulantly, "the room blew up."

"Yes, I had gathered that," Snape's voice took on a tone normally used to address an imbecile, "why did you explode with it? Hmm? There were any number of things you could have done to prevent yourself from being damaged, besides standing there like an idiot." Snape's voice rose in volume as it filled with anger, "a flame freezing charm perhaps, which I know full well you learned in third year." Snape arched his eyebrow, looking pointedly at Greg, who glared back mutinously in response. Sneering, Professor Snape continued, "you could have apparated out of the room, away from the explosion, or would that have seemed too much like running away?"

Greg growled out his reply, interrupting Snape's tirade, "it happened too fast. There was no time to do anything besides," Greg paused then, addressing the real cause of Snape's anger, "how would I have explained my miraculous escape. They wouldn't understand. They'd start asking questions, they'd have to. They can't ignore evidence, especially when it's right in front of them."

"It would pique their interest," Snape put forth silkily, "something you can ill afford."

Greg glared in response.

Snape resumed speaking, undaunted, in a tone that belied the importance of the conversation, "I wonder how wise it is for you to continue this masquerade of yours in this particular muggle enclave, especially since those you most associate with are well versed in documenting and examining the minutia of daily human existence."

Greg didn't even pause to wonder how Professor Snape had kept such a close watch on him without his awareness, instead he said preemptively, "I'm not going back."

"Of course not," Snape frowned, affronted, "who would, when they could eke out a miserable existence pretending to be something they are not, pretending to be less than what they are." Snape finished, smirking quite patronizingly.

Greg rolled his eyes at this attempt to sway him, "that's rich coming from you, or have they finally discerned where your loyalties lie?"

Snape ignoring him, spoke again, "still, expanding so much time and energy, and having so little to show for it? I thought I taught you better than that,"

Greg scowled, knowing that he would never fully convince Snape, he returned to his original argument, "I'm safe here," he claimed emphatically.

"Oh, yes," retorted Snape humourlessly, "you are clearly very well protected."

Professor Snape arched his brow and stood up from his chair. He stalked silently around the bed and removed the dressings off Greg's back. "What are you doing?" Greg screeched as the cold air rushed against his damaged skin.

Snape hissed at the sight and gently reapplied the bandages. "Apparently," Snape said through clenched teeth, "muggle medicine is as useless as everyone claims."

Greg ground his teeth against the waves of pain, "it's not that bad."

Professor Snape returned to his seat at Greg's side. "They can cure that, can they? What are they waiting for, an invitation?" replied Snape, brimming with sarcasm, "you know, a trip home would sort it all out, a few days in St. Mungo's and you'd be healed."

Greg shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position, "No!," Greg snapped, growing irritated now that his meds were wearing off, "time will heal it." Greg reached for the call button and pressed it. "

Time!" sputtered Snape, "living with these muggles has addled your wits boy."

'Hello Mr. Sanders, how are you doing this evening?" an innocuous voice questioned from the doorway, where a woman stood dressed completely in light blue.

"Surprisingly, I'm in a great deal of pain. I wonder why?" Greg asked sarcastically.

The lady disregarded his tone, owing to years of patience accumulated dealing with fractious patients. She felt compeled to ignore the man occupying the chair next to Mr. Sanders' bed, currently shooting her venomous glares. The nurse walked over to the foot of the bed and read his chart, then checked her watch.

"Well, it's just about time to replenish your morphine drip, that should improve your temperament," she said with a cheerful smile. Professor Snape, and Greg sat in tense silence until the nurse returned with the morphine.

"Madame," Snape inquired frigidly, the single word dripping with icicles, when she had finished her task, "I was wondering if I might be able to speak to Mr. … Sanders' doctor, concerning his treatment?" Snape shot Greg a cold look, silencing his objections. Though she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, she acquiesced readily. Professor Snape and the nurse were on their way out, leaving Greg to his medication, when yet another person entered the room, appearing startled to find it so occupied.

"Griss? Er .. Grissom?" Greg questioned, discomfited by the fact that his current employer and former mentor were currently breathing the same air.

Simultaneously, the nurse spoke out, "ah, Mr. Grissom, good to see you again. Checking up on our favourite patient?"

Gil Grissom ignored her entirely in favour of blinking owlishly at Professor Snape, as though attempting to classify him.

For his part, Snape fixed Grissom with a steely gaze combined with a sneer normally reserved for particularly detestable Gryffindors, "Mr. Grissom, I presume."

Greg spoke in an attempt to break the contest of wills unfolding before him, "I'm not normally this popular." His voice succeeded in dragging both Grissom and Snape back into the present.

"Not a fact I find at all surprising," Snape threw over his shoulder as he and the nurse resumed their search for Greg's physician.

"Greg, who is … Is that guy a patient here?" Grissom asked, taken aback by Snape's obvious dislike.

"Heh, no, that's … uh … Snape. Grissom, what are you doing here?" Greg asked attempting to draw his attention away from the departing Snape.

"I wanted to see how you were doing, I didn't think you'd be up," having spoken, now Grissom was the one who looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Still Greg couldn't deny feeling a small rush of pleasure derived from the fact that Grissom was worried about him, that he considered him more than a piece of equipment from the lab. 'Though,' Greg reasoned, 'that could just be the morphine.'

"Greg," Grissom's discomfort at the situation could be heard in his tone, "I want you, we all want you to concentrate on getting well. Everything at work will be taken care of."

Greg went straight to the heart of the matter, "You're replacing me?" he asked dumbfounded. "

Gil said cautiously, "you're not really in a position to …"

Greg cut him off, incredulous, "exactly how long do you think I'm going to be in here for?" Grissom sighed, opening his mouth to reassure his lab tech when he was interrupted by Professor Snape's return.

"Saying your goodbyes? How touching." Snape mocked, "do hurry it along, the aeroplane is waiting." Snape motioned to the orderlies, waiting by the door, to enter with a gurney, which they proceeded to do.

"Goodbyes… what?" Greg shook his head trying to clear it and focus his thoughts. His eyes widened when he realized what Snape was referring too.

"Greg, you're going somewhere? Have the doctors said you're fit to travel?" said Grissom, doubting that sincerely. Greg examined his limited options, and realized he could not protest while Grissom was around. Professor Snape, meanwhile, intercepted Grissom before he could interfere with the orderlies as they transferred Greg from one bed to another, unhooking him from the monitors and his I.V. drip in the process.

"Mr. Sanders," Snape informed Grissom coldly, "is being moved to a facility better suited to his recuperation than this one." This was said with a disparaging sneer, while eyeing the room as though it were a rat infested hovel. "Unless," hissed Professor Snape menacingly as he turned to face Greg once more, "there are any objections?"

Greg could see Snape's eyes flashing dangerously as his temper flared. Attempting to diffuse the situation, "No, Grissom, it's alright," Greg said, feigning acceptance, "he's, uh, a family doctor, they sent him."

Professor Snape quirked his eyebrow at the fabrication. Fortunately, the orderlies mistook it as a signal to them, and hustled Greg out of the room before Grissom could comment. Snape followed silently behind them without even a backward glance.

"What just happened here?" Grissom asked aloud, interrogating the empty room. Gil sighed as his cell phone rang, and answered bruskly, without even bothering to check the caller id, "Grissom."

Out in the hall, Greg and company were fast approaching an elevator. While waiting for it reach their floor, Greg jerked Snape's arm down and ignoring the spasms of pain, and whispered harshly in his ear, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

Professor Snape responded with an inelegant snort as he pulled away, "what are you planning then, assault armed with bed sheets? I can't think why you would wish to fight me on this. I overheard what that idiot muggle said … Do you really think that job, those people are going to be waiting for you when you finally get your life, such as it is, back together? This way you can return, if that is your wish, in a week or two perfectly healed. As long as you remember to keep your shirt on, no should be any the wiser."

The doors slid open and the orderlies pushed Greg in. Snape paused at the entrance, holding the doors open, "gentlemen," Snape murmured silkily, edged with steel, catching they eye of first one orderly, then the other, "I think it would be best if we made our own way from here."

Wordlessly, both men nodded in unison and moved silently past Snape exiting the elevator. The doors whispered shut, sealing Greg and Professor Snape safely inside. "Now then …," Snape said as he grabbed Greg with one hand and the bed frame with the other, "concentrate."

Crack! The elevator pinged quietly when it reached it's destination, and the doors slid open to reveal its emptiness.

**** flash forward ****

The screen fell to the floor, the sound it made muffled, to his ears, by the pounding of his heart. Greg looked anxiously on the scene before him, searching for proof that Snape still lived. He blanched at the sight of the tragedy that had befallen the potions master.

**** end flashback ****

Tears of emotion and exhaustion were still streaming down his face when Greg felt something pulling roughly at his hair, snapping him out of his fugue state. Greg uncurled slowly and came face to beak with an eastern grass owl. The hissed quietly and held out it's left leg, drawing Greg's attention away from it's brown eyes and down to the small role of parchment secured there. Cautiously, Greg untied the note and pulled away, the bird, full of self-importance, ruffled it's feathers and flew out a nearby open widow. The familiar green ink revealed when Greg unravelled the note caused his heart to clench and his anger to resurface tenfold: _Whenever you are ready… _

"Bastard," Greg cursed showering Dumbledore with many other choice expletives as he began tearing through the room. Coughing at the dust he was raising, Greg halted his frenzied actions long enough to shut his eyes and murmur, "_scourgify_."

Opening his eyes he saw that the room had returned to the immaculate state it had held eight years previous. Greg resumed rifling through the slightly mouldy collections, gathering anything that might be of use. Arms full of books and supplies, Greg paused only to flick his hood back over his head, shadowing his features once more, before storming out of the room. Ignoring the jeers of the still warring animals, Greg sped his way down to the dungeons of Hogwarts, where Professor Snape's private quarters and classrooms were located. He pushed open the door to a unused class room, all the while battling internally.

'This one last thing, and then, I am done,' Greg assured himself. He only wished he could bring himself to actually believe it.

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A/N: Please Review ;-}


	9. When The Road Darkens

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

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"Hmph!" grumbled Madame Pince from behind her desk, jumping in shock as Hermione slammed another dusty tome shut and added it to the pile of disregarded books growing around her. Nerves overset, Madame Pince quickly made her way over to the table where Hermione was situated, 'along with half of my books, I shouldn't wonder,' Madame Pince thought, indulging in a little hyperbole.

Having quietly reached the table, Pince now sought Hermione's attention. "Miss Granger?" Madame Pince asked, her voice expressing only half the exasperation she felt; exasperation which grew when Hermione ignored her in favour of pouring over a new found text. 'Hmmm,' thought Pince, peering over Granger's shoulder, only mildly curious about Hermione's latest quest for knowledge. 'Is that papyrus? Where on earth did she dig that up? ... If her shoddy treatment has damaged any of my books, Dumbledore be damned, I'll ... ungrateful trouble makers the lot of them.'

As Madame Pince's mind wandered, someone else approached Hermione's table, his curiosity piqued, though he wasn't quite sure why. 'Nothing unusual about mudblood Granger in the library, however, she is alone ...' inwardly Malfoy cackled with unrestrained glee at the thought of finally getting revenge on the mudblood for ... existing and whatnot.

Outwardly, of course, he maintained his usual affectation of boredom and took a seat at a neighbouring table, a plan forming in his mind. He drew his wand out, as unobtrusively as possible, and aimed it at the Gryffindor's table, 'how precariously those books are stacked; it's her own fault really, tsk, tsk; look that one's teetering all ready. It wouldn't take much, just a little push and the books ... The books ...'

Distracted from his plan, Draco began to read the titles of the books surrounding Hermione, each one more ancient and decrepit than the last. Bewildered, Malfoy slid his wand up his sleeve, hope for concussions and comas forgotten. 'They're all about magical creatures, beasts. Granted, a few of them look interesting ... Almost dark. But why would Granger be doing research for a class a Hufflepuff could pass with ease, if not injury? ... Granger's cracked.'

Draco snorted in humour as the realization dawned. Unfortunately, it roused Madame Pince from her stupor, and drew her attention squarely onto him; sitting at an empty table, with no books in sight and a somewhat innocent expression fixed on his face. Pince took it all in and immediately pointed towards the exit. Despite having actually done nothing wrong, Malfoy followed her directions almost graciously, smirking nastily once Pince's attention was back on Hermione, secure in the knowledge that the know-it-all bane of his existence had gone completely off her trolley.

Oblivious to it all, Hermione continued searching through the sheaves of papyrus, flipping page after pager, uncaring that they might crumble into dust at the slightest provocation. In Hermione's other hand, inked quill rested, poised to write down everything she found, anything that might shed light on their current trial. The parchment remained blank, mocking her with it's emptiness, and Hermione was fairly certain her hand had begun to cramp. Thus far, after many tedious hours of research, she had found nothing, nothing that wasn't already known. Hermione was getting frustrated.

"Bah!, It's useless!," she growled, closing and shoving the book away in disgust; accidentally causing one tower of books to topple over, nearly burying a nearby student in the process.

"Miss Granger!" Madame Pince exclaimed, in a combination of a shout and a whisper that librarians everywhere excel at, aghast at the favoured student's wanton disregard for her surroundings. Cringing, Hermione was abruptly made aware of the librarian's proximity. Hermione was too out of sorts to attempt anything more than a meagre apology, forestalled by Madame Pince's raised hand.

Growing increasingly livid with anger, Pince spoke in the same tenor of voice as before, "if you are quite finished wreaking havoc in this bastion of knowledge, you will gather your effects and depart at once!"

Hermione packed her things speedily, face flushed with embarrassment, under Madame Pince's wrathful gaze, and all but ran out of the library.

Hermione stopped running when she reached the end of the hallway and plunked herself down on the floor. Leaning against the wall for support, she began unpacking her bag in order to repack it properly. 'Hopefully, nothing was damaged,' she thought.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed two other students further down the otherwise deserted hall. 'Ravenclaw girl, I don't recognize her though. Not my year I expect.' Hermione sighed when she recognized the other student, 'Malfoy.' Hermione finished repacking as quickly as possible, 'you'd think Malfoy would know better than to harass out in the open like this, nothing good ever comes from it. On the other hand, these idiot girls should've learned by now not to get cornered by him. Ah well, Gryffindor to the rescue, as always.' she thought wearily.

Hermione moved forward slowly, pretending to be absorbed by the newspaper she held in her hand. A new theory of Hermione's was about to be put to the test. 'When dealing with Malfoy,' she thought, 'if you want to escape unscathed, it's best to seem as uninterested as possible.'

In a bored voice she called out, "leave her alone Malfoy."

Malfoy glanced over his shoulder to see who dared interrupt him and rolled his eyes when he saw Granger, "If it isn't the newest inmate at St. Mungo's, slipped your leash already?" he asked derisively as he moved away from the other student and dropped into a mocking bow. The Ravenclaw in question giggled at his antics, but moved quickly past the two, blushing when Draco called after her in his most insinuating voice, "I'll see you later then, shall I?"

Turning, the girl winked at him and then ran around the corner causing Malfoy to chuckle seductively. Hermione ignored the entire byplay, becoming genuinely interested in one of the articles. It was the most recent edition of The Quibbler, Luna had lent it to her after lunch. Written there, plain as day, proof that tabloids don't always get it wrong: Fun Gryphon Facts to Know and Tell. Hermione read the list with anticipation, only to fall flat, until she read the last sentence, _'properties of the gryphon used mainly in spell and potions which delve into the black arts_.'

His patience wearing thin, he broke the silence first, "well, mudblood?" Malfoy asked haughtily, effectively snapping her out of her daze.

"Malfoy," Hermione said almost jubilantly, thoughts racing. "I need you help with something," she asked single-mindedly, forgetting that Malfoy had never, probably would never willingly help her with anything.

Draco's eyes widened imperceptibly at the request, 'either she really is mad,' he thought, looking around skeptically, 'or this is a trap of some sort.' Scowling, he drew his wand from his sleeve, "what could I possibly do for you?" he asked coldly.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the display and put the newspaper in her bag. "Honestly Malfoy, you're more paranoid than Ron." Malfoy sneered at the comparison and kept his wand aloft, yet again prompted by some wayward curiosity, gestured for her to keep talking. All the while Draco kept an eye out for the sudden appearance of stampeding Gryffindors.

Hermione continued eagerly, "it's for Care of Magical Creatures, Hagrid mentioned we might be doing research projects next term. I wanted to get ahead and you're one of the top students in our year; only there aren't as many books in the library on account of it having been used for mainly darker spells ..." The lies fell from Hermione lips with seeming ease, having thought up and practiced a cover story for Madame Pince over lunch, Hermione had no compunction against using it again on Malfoy.

For his part, Draco was in a state of bemused shock. 'Granger, the know-it-all Gryffindor mudblood, is doing her damnedest to talk to me as though we're friends. Granted she is asking for a favour, more like my so-called friends than she realizes,' he thought angrily.

"What are you playing at?" he asked sharply, interrupting Hermione's inane chattering, his eyes adopting their usual iciness in an effort to hide his growing perplexity.

Whatever Hermione had been about to say was lost when Harry and Ron rounded the corner, "We've already checked the girls dormitory, the owlery and the library. There's no where else for her to be." said Ron in a voice tinged with frustration. Looking away from Ron, Harry realized the focus of their search was suddenly in front of them, with Malfoy of all people.

"Hermione?" Harry's called out. In a split second both boys drew their wands and ran to Hermione's aid, Harry on her right and Ron on her left.

Malfoy snickered inwardly at their predictable behaviour, though was secretly glad to be back on familiar territory, Granger's behaviour had begun to worry him, 'their problem now ...' he smirked, but kept his wits about him, without Crabbe and Goyle he was out-numbered, 'and that hot-head weasel is more likely to shoot first and have someone tell him the answers later ... pathetic excuse for a pure blood.'

Determined to get the better of Malfoy for once, Ron spoke next, in a raised voice, attempting to disarm Malfoy, "Expelliar-" when Harry realized Hermione hadn't drawn her wand and interrupted him, shouting "Ron, hold!" just in time to thwart the spell.

Keeping his wand focused on the smirking Slytherin, Harry turned to examine Hermione. She looked tired, and not entirely pleased with the situation. 'Still,' Harry reasoned, 'talking to Malfoy would upset anyone.' Ron, however, kept total focus on Malfoy, silently daring him to make a move.

"Hermione, are you all right?" Harry asked concern flooding his voice.

"Yes, yes," Hermione mumbled abashed, "I'm fine I was just ..." her voice petered out as Draco caught her eye and cocked his eyebrow deliberately, daring to her to explain exactly what she had been doing, consorting with the enemy; because, frankly he wasn't all that sure himself.

At that instant Malfoy realized, should any of his housemates stumble into this situation, they might garner an inaccurate conclusion, 'holding conversation with mudbloods and muggle lovers, I'd never hear the end of it. Not to mention what Father would say...' Draco shuddered mentally at the thought and, summoning up his iciest facade, one proven to lower the surrounding temperature, he returned his wand to it's hiding place and took his leave from the Gryffindor trio.

"Potter, Mudblood, Weasel," Malfoy sneered. His robes billowing behind him as he stalked off, leaving a bristling Ron, a discouraged Hermione, and a confused Harry in his wake.

Ron stared after him, wand gripped in a white knuckled fist, torn between the desire to put Malfoy in his place, and concern for Hermione.

Harry, sensing Ron's turmoil, because, to a lesser extent, he shared it, whispered to him, "leave him, we've got more important things to deal with." As if to emphasize his point, Hermione growled in frustration and stomping her feet firmly against the floor, began to walk in the opposite direction of the one Malfoy had chosen.

Ron and Harry shared a look before following her, Ron thinking over and over again, 'bouncing ferret, bouncing ferret ...' Harry reached out and gently grabbed hold of Hermione's elbow, halting her attack on the floor. He moved ahead slightly so they could see each other.

"Harry," Hermione said, distractedly, "what is it?"

"Mione, what was that all about?" Harry enquired quietly, hoping to avoid confrontation.

I have a research project, for extra credit. It's not going as well as I'd hoped and ... as it's more his field than mine, I asked Malfoy for help." Hermione finished, flushing slightly, feeling guilty for having to lie to Harry, after all this time.

With Malfoy, it had been almost easy, 'he called me that disgusting name again ... but if I could have gotten his help, it would have been worth it. Harry and Ron just ... Ron ... Ron, oh Blast!"

"You What!?!" Ron exploded as he whirled Hermione around to face him, his face flushed and angry. Harry winced and prayed that there weren't any teachers around to witness this particular battle.

Hermione, though embarrassed stood her ground and scowled at Ron, saying slowly, "I. Asked. Him. For. Help."

"I heard you the first time!" Ron yelled, "What were you thinking? Asking our worst enemy... He hexed you, didn't he? That bastard! I'll kill him."

Fuming, Ron started back after Malfoy, when Harry quickly moved to intercept him, "Ron -,"

"No, Harry, he's put some kind of spell on her, she didn't even have her wand out." Ron sputtered indignantly.

Hermione practically shouted, "He didn't do anything! I just needed help is all." 'Which,' a scion of Hermione's mind continued traitorously, 'I might have gotten if you two hadn't showed up... probably not though.'

"From Malfoy?" Ron bellowed in disbelief, causing Harry to wince again, "that slimy, Slytherin git who has done nothing but try to make all our lives a living hell from the moment we set foot in this school."

Hermione snapped, "Well, we've paid him back in kind, haven't we!" stunning the two boys into shocked silence. 'Whoa,' Hermione asked silently, 'where did that come from? Ron just pushed me to the edge is all, I don't necessarily believe it,' Hermione answering herself, trying to justify her outburst and ignore the heckling laughter echoing inside her head.

Hermione rubbed her forehead, attempting to ease her sudden headache, frowning she said, "I don't have time for this." She pivoted on her heel and marched away, neither boy made any move to stop her. In fact both stood frozen, varying degrees of shock etched onto their faces.

"Harry?" Ron asked, after a minute of silence, his temper cooling, "what just happened?" his voice trailed off.

"Well," Harry began uncertainly, battling his own headache, "the Fat Lady said Hermione didn't get back till this morning, from whatever Dumbledore had her doing, she's probably just tired ... and you know how she gets about her projects..."

"But Malfoy? She could've asked me, er, us for help, why would she go to him?" Ron asked worriedly.

Worn out, Harry started heading back to Gryffindor common, "If Mione was in danger, really in peril, Dumbledore would know." A voice whispered dryly in back of Harry's mind, 'yes, he knows everything.'

"I guess," replied Ron, "let's ask him just to be sure."

'Right,' the voice intruded upon Harry's thoughts once more, heavy with doubt, 'and he'll tell you everything he knows, hmm? More like everything he wants you to know. Just enough to get you to do what he wants, like a good little puppet.'

"Aarghh!" Harry grumbled, stopping in the hallway once more, clutching his hands to his head.

"Harry? It's not," Ron voice dropped to a whisper, full of concern, "your scar, is it?" He put his hand comfortingly on Harry's shoulder.

Harry shook it off and began walking again, at a quicker pace than before, leaving Ron behind, "No," Harry said, abruptly, "just a headache. Look," he called out over his shoulder, "Hermione can take care of herself, you know that, besides, it's probably nothing. I'll see you later."

'Great,' thought Ron, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he made his solitary way towards the Headmaster's office, 'I'll just look for Dumbledore by myself. Maybe he'll tell me what in bloody hell is going on.' Ron shuffled forward looking gravely concerned, 'because I don't have a clue.'


	10. Pay No Attention To The Man Behind The C...

A/N. #1: To Kathryn Mason-Sykes, since this story includes a dearth of characters: main, secondary, tertiary and otherwise, it's difficult to include all of the important characters in each chapter. Rest assured that there is only the one plot line. To retell the story from different perspectives, while interesting, would take far too much work, and I am, at heart, a very lazy individual. However, there will continue to be chapters where either Greg or Hermione are not present and therefore do not interact, or perhaps some where neither is present. Believe me when I say such things are necessary, for setting if not plot, and I have a fairly good idea where the story is going. It's the sequel I'm not so sure of. Regarding your earlier question, as to whether Greg and Mione would be pursuing a romantic relationship with each other, I honestly don't know. I don't think so, at least not in this story ;-) Not because of the age difference, rather because they don't know each other that well, it hasn't even been a full day yet, and because Greg has quite a few inner demons to work out before he'd be fit for a real relationship, Hermione too, I suppose, and that's what I'd rather the two of them had. Still, it's never really in my hands, the characters take on lives of their own. Not to sound crazed, but sometimes I'm a little surprised at what comes out. Chapter Nine is a perfect example, in my head, it ended a lot happier than it did on paper.

A/N. #2: There is a fair amount of latin in this chapter, and I apologize profusely ahead of time for butchering the language. I highly doubt that any of the conjugation is correct, unfortunately I don't speak latin and can't fix the problem. Suspend you disbelief, and pretend that the spells, potions and charms I have invented actually do what they are supposed to.

A/N. #3: Just to let you know, I'm not this pretentious in real life, my friends will vouch for me, Rae? Trace? Andy? ... Guys? crickets chirp

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

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Hermione felt cross, she always did after fighting with Ron. Having the argument follow after her spectacular failure to unearth a restorative for Professor Snape, made her feel even worse. As always, Hermione had continued the argument in her head, it usually went better when Ron wasn't around, 'but Ron should learn to control his temper. It's not like I was doing anything wrong, talking to Malfoy isn't a crime, is it?' Hermione asked herself. 'Well,' another part of Mione's subconscious reasoned gently, 'it is in Ron's eyes. Malfoy has never been his favourite person, and you can't expect Ron to change how he feels or acts towards Malfoy without giving him a reason.' 'I have the best possible reason,' Hermione returned hotly, 'I'm trying to save Snape's life.' The voice interrupted again, 'but Ron and Harry don't know that, do they? As far as they know, the only things at stake are a few extra credits for a class you already excel in.' Hermione's inner battle faltered momentarily at this but she rallied stubbornly and countered, 'I can't tell them what's really going on. They should trust my judgment by now.' 'And you should trust theirs,' her subconscious prodded gently, trying a different tack, 'are you sure that saving Snape is the only reason you are pursuing this so doggedly?' Refusing to respond, utterly cross and confused, Hermione didn't notice Professor Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall until she barreled into them, rebounding into the floor. They too had had been occupied, in conversation, otherwise they would have seen Granger coming. In the fall, Hermione's book bag tore open emptying it's contents all over the stone floor. Eyes smarting with tears, Hermione looked up to find Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore staring down at her, radiating concern with faint lines of worry etched on their faces. 

"Miss Granger, are you quite well?" Professor McGonagall enquired. Wiping away her tears, aware that she must look as horrid as she felt, Hermione responded, "Sorry, Professor, Headmaster. I wasn't paying attention, I'm ... was distracted," she finished lamely. "Understandable, given the circumstances, " said McGonagall, wincing, "though perhaps not the wisest course of action when one is running through corridors." While Hermione remained kneeling on the floor, repacking her bag for the third time this day, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall moved a few steps to give her privacy.

Regardless of the distance, their conversation filtered down to Hermione's ears. She could make out the worry in Professor McGonagall's voice, "and there's been no change in his condition?" Hermione' s body tensed when she realized they were talking about Snape. "Not as yet, no," Dumbledore replied sighing, "there is still hope." Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see McGonagall speaking through pursed her lips, "I still can't believe he's here. After all these years..." Dumbledore's response was pitched lower, and Hermione had to strain to make it out. "... don't judge him to harshly. If it had fallen to you, would you have turned your back ... is resolved, remember," his voice rose slightly, "at Hogwarts, help is always giving to those who require it. Ah, Miss Granger." Hermione jumped at the sound of her name, shouldered her bag and rose blushing, hoping they hadn't noticed her blatantly easedropping on their conversation. "Everything in it's place?" Headmaster Dumbledore asked calmly, his eyes betraying only the merest twinkle. "Er, yes," Hermione said, patting her bag weakly, wanting nothing more than to escape their scrutiny, "all better now." Blushing, Hermione nodded her head at both of them and quickly took her leave.

"Hmm, Albus," she admonished, "it might have been simpler just to tell Miss Granger where to go." Professor Dumbledore raised his eyebrow and querying, "you have so little faith in Hermione's intellect then?" "Of course not," said Minerva, mildly affronted, "but this has been trying for everyone ..." Dumbledore patted her shoulder. "All the more reason to have a little fun," he teased gently. Reaching the infirmary, Dumbledore opened the door ahead of them and gallantly gestured for Professor McGonagall to go through. The Headmaster followed after her, shutting the door firmly behind him. "You aren't at all worried?" McGonagall asked in hushed tones returning back to their original conversation. Dumbledore retook his seat at Professor Snape's bedside, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I have the utmost faith," he answered.

In another part of school, a flash of enlightenment erupted within Hermione's head causing her to exclaim suddenly, "of course! and why didn't I think of it before." Hermione took off at a dead run, her mind completely focused on her destination.

The door was locked. The fact that the door was already present when she arrived should have been a clue that the room was occupied, but Hermione was too anxious to notice trifles like that. 'Well, you're a witch, Hermione, you've opened locked doors before, ... and there was a giant three headed dog on the other side of it,' her subconscious mocked. 'That's enough out of you,' Hermione thought pushing that voice to the back of her mind. She squared her shoulders, and pointed her wand at the door knob, saying, "alohomora." The now familiar sparks shot out the tip of her wand yet the door remained unopened. 'I could knock,' Hermione thought hesitantly, 'and convince whomever it is to let me use the room instead, unless it's a Slytherin.' "Urg!" Hermione shouted as she kicked the door in frustration.

"Who's there?" called a voice from behind the door. Startled Hermione responded, "Hermione Granger, and you are?" A series of thumps followed, sounding suspiciously like someone banging their head softly against a hard surface. Then silence descended once more over the hallway. "Are you alright?" Hermione asked, concerned that perhaps the room's occupant had knocked themselves unconscious. 'It's not entirely outside the realm of possibilities,' she thought defensively. "Enter," called the voice from within the room. With a muffled click, the door unlocked itself and opened slightly. Filled with a sense of foreboding, Hermione gripped the handle tightly and jerked the door open and was astonished by what lay through the doorway.

The click of the door shutting behind her, reverberated in Hermione's mind, clouded by a fog of befuddlement and she dropped her bag to the floor. Hermione honestly couldn't remember walking into the room, 'I don't remember returning to Las Vegas either ...' she thought acerbically. The room she had entered was almost an exact replica of Greg's lab at the police station. 'The glass walls, surrounded by an impenetrable darkness, the stark white linoleum, the buzzing blue fluorescent lights,' Hermione looked around, 'it's all here.' The lack of scientific and investigative devices was the only difference, as far as Hermione could tell. In their place stood many boiling cauldrons, at various stages of readiness; racks of herbs and other unrecognizable plants; jars and sachets of creature parts: bezoars here, and unicorn's hair there; scores of vials and carafes filled with murky fluids; and books, innumerable in number surrounded by sheaves of loose paper festooned with tiny scribbles. And in the midst of the chaos, giving new definition to the term 'Mad Scientist', stood Greg, glaring at Hermione, eerily reminiscent of their previous encounter within these walls, half a world away.

Greg dropped his head to the counter once more, with a resounding thud. "I was doing fine,' he said addressing the counter, "I'll admit the research had stumped for a while. Working in his lab wasn't helping any, too many memories I guess; I couldn't focus. But then I came here and everything clicked. I was in the zone, I was getting it done, the way I always do, pulling miracles out of thin air, not that anyone else ever sees it that way. Then," Greg laughed humourlessly, "then old Dumbles decides to give me some help." He raised his head finally and stared at Hermione, bleary eyed with fatigue, "and he sent you, again. Are you the only student in this school?" Greg asked, his voice tinged with irritation. "What?" queried Hermione, unsure if Greg's question was rhetorical or not. "Are all the other students dead or evil and Dumbledore doesn't want me to know or what?" He enquired again, all the while scowling tiredly at Hermione. "I'm not sure I understand ..." Hermione said hesitantly unwilling to aggravate Greg further, and spark her own temper in return.

"That much is clear," Greg said harshly, "If I'm being forced to have an assistant, I'd prefer it were someone with half a brain, though I understand how limiting that stipulation would be at Hogwarts. Deluded, self-righteous Gryffindors need not apply." Greg finished sneering. "Do you remember what happened the last time you insulted me?" Hermione asked through clenched teeth. "Look," Greg said flushing at the memory of that insult and the events directly preceding it, 'arguing with her isn't going to help any,' Greg thought chastising himself. "There must be a student more suitable, a Ravenclaw? or someone with knowledge of herb lore?" he pleaded. "No one else knows you're here, besides," said Hermione partly teasing and partly boasting, "everyone says I'm the cleverest witch to come through Hogwarts in a very long while." She smirked up at him. Greg's hands balled into fists involuntarily, "Do you think this is a game?" he cried out, "Severus' life is at stake," raising his torment filled eyes to hers. Their eyes connected and Hermione felt her own anguish rise to the surface and shine out. "I need to help," was her heartfelt response. "Fine," Greg whispered, and turned away attempting to reign in his scattered emotions. Hermione felt momentarily bereft at the loss and fought to regain her composure

Greg moved silently around the lab gathering papers and other things as he went. "Put on the apron and the gloves, don't let anything touch your skin," Greg instructed impersonally. Once Hermione had complied, he handed her the notes he had gathered and continued her instruction, "all of the ingredients need to be prepared exactly as it's been written. And, I cannot stress this enough, they must not come into contact with each other, not even trace elements, so clean everything thoroughly after each item. Understood?" Shuffling through the papers in her hand, Hermione looked up at Greg, a puzzled expression fixed on her face. "Well," he said, teasing lightly, "you can read can't you?" Hermione glared back, bristling, "I can read perfectly well, I just don't recognize most of the plants..." Greg regarded her blankly, "so?" "So," she countered, "what do they look like? Where do they come from? How did you find them?"

Greg smiled faintly remembering Hermione's earlier curiosity, 'God, it feels like weeks ago... There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,' his smiled faded and he spoke bruskly, "everything is clearly marked. I'm sorry we don't have time for twenty questions." Hermione, peeved by his dismissal of her interest, opened her mouth to speak again when Greg cut her off, 'I'm not your teacher," he snapped rashly, "and this isn't a learning experience. Do as you're told or get out of my way and I'll do it myself." "I was just going to ask," Hermione said coldly, "what to do with the ingredients when they are ready?" "Uh, right..." Greg said weakly, flustered, he pointed, "there should be specimen jars and evidence bags in that cupboard. Make sure everything is sealed and labeled." As an afterthought he added, "you should change your gloves after handling each item." "What happens if any gets mixed together?" Hermione asked concerned. "I have no idea," Greg admitted, "maybe nothing, possibly the cure we're looking for, or they could combine together to form an unstoppable deadly virus the likes of which neither Hogwarts nor the world has ever before seen. Isn't experimenting fun?"

Hermione snorted in response and Greg grinned at her unrepentantly for the first time since Hermione had announced her magical status. Eyes shining with mirth, Hermione relaxed, her headache long forgotten and started work immediately, pleased to be doing something productive. Greg watched her silently for a moment, still smiling, before shaking himself out of his stupor. 'Focus,' he reminded himself sternly, 'the incantation ...'

Hermione read the first item and the ensuing instructions carefully:

_Agrimonia Eupatoria_ (Agrimony): Weave the stalks three times three neatly, then dry ... (burnt offering)

Pulling a pair of latex gloves from the box on the counter, Hermione began searching through the collections of plants in the room, since she had no idea what agrimony looked like. When she located it, Hermione cut nine stems of a similar length, with the help of a nearby pair of scissors. "Scourgify," Hermione whispered pointing her wand at the scissors before dropping them in her apron pocket. She immediately applied the magical cleaning process to the stalks and carried over to an empty workstation. Separating the stems into groups of three, Hermione whispered a charm to straighten them, "rectam facere," than another to braid each grouping separately, and repeated it to weave the groups together. "Spirae," she spoke quietly, left Hermione with a solid rope of agrimony.

Thankful she had followed her inclinations despite Ron's teasing, Hermione had read quite a few of Neville's herbology texts and though she had never attempted it before, she knew of a spell which should dry out the plant enough so that it would burn properly. With a swish of her wand, Hermione confidently whispered, "torrere aridum." She watched as all the moisture sealed within the plant evaporated, a process that would have normally taken weeks was completed within a few seconds. Hermione placed the braid of dried agrimony in a plastic bag and labeled before sealing it shut. Perusing the papers again Hermione noticed two other plants required as burnt offerings, '_angelica archangelica_, and _humulus lupulus_, at least I recognize these,' Hermione thought, her curiosity only slightly dampened. Making sure to change her gloves, and clean the scissors, it was not long before the process was complete and two bags containing the ropes of angelica and hops, respectively, were placed next to the one of agrimony.

Enormously pleased with herself, Hermione hazarded a glance over at Greg. He was leaning back in his chair, his head resting on the back of the seat. Hermione was startled to see the vacant expression on his face, especially since his eyes were open. Even more puzzling, in this position, unaware and unfocused, Greg was writing, slowly and methodically filling the page before him. 'That's not natural,' Hermione thought unnerved. Though she was intrigued, Hermione resolved not to interrupt, instead promised herself that she would ask later exactly what he had been doing, and why. 'And whatever he did to keep the door barred against entry ... hopefully I can make him tell me.' Hermione mused having lost confidence in her researching skills. Pick up the list again, Hermione counted and then sighed, 'three done ... One and twenty to go. Right then, _Myrica Cerifera_ (Bayberry)...'

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A/N: Please Review 


	11. Exile

A/N #1: There is a tiny amount of latin in this chapter, probably all of it incorrect. And if you think this is bad wait until you read the next one where I'll be butchering three languages all in one go.  
  
A/N #2: Sorry this was chapter a long time coming. If it's any consolation, it's also very short.   
  
(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

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"Blast!" Hermione yelped, yanking off her third apron as it began to smolder emitting wicked red smoke. "Interstinguo," she said, pointing her wand at the offending heap on the floor. "I did warn you to be careful," Greg said from his corner of the room, a small smile playing about his lips. After a series of sneezes, Hermione replied, "I can't help it if the cinnamonum zeylanicum gets everywhere." Both had long since abandoned their robes, Greg, because it was restricting his movements, and Hermione, because she feared for it's destruction. Glancing at the growing pile of ruined aprons, the latest one still steaming, Hermione felt she had made a wise decision.   
  
Another half hour passed, thankfully without mishap, before Hermione completed her task, 'at last,' she thought, dumping the dripping mess of mashed polygonum bistorta roots into a labeled specimen jar and screwing the lid tight. Disposing of her gloves, she shook out her aching hands, thinking 'no wonder Professor Snape is always so cross, a Potion Master's lot is not a happy one...' "Sore?" Greg asked quietly to her left, rifling through the baggies and jars of ingredients before choosing six and returning to a small simmering cauldron. "A little," Hermione demurred, "you?" Greg replied with wan grin, "getting there. Guess I'm not as used to potion making as I used to be. I don't remember it taking this long." He began emptying the selected ingredients into the cauldron slowly.  
  
Hermione commiserated, "I had to brew a potion once, in second year, it was almost two months before it was completed. It was quite complicated and time consuming; Harry and Ron got bored with it long before it was finished." "Ah, the attention span of the Gryffindor boy, I'm quite familiar with it. Not that I can cast any stones, I tend to be easily distracted these days. Living outside of the magical world, you grow dependent on machinery and science to ease daily life. Things happen faster out there than they do here," Greg repressed a sigh as he stirred the potion in front of him; gently, always clockwise. He continued, "it makes my job easier, hell, it makes my job possible, but I'm expected to produce results instantaneously, if not faster, without the aid of magic. I can picture it now, 'yes Warrick, of course I can identify the owner of the hair you found on your victim. I'll brew up this potion, and under the light of the Waxing Gibbous moon we can drink it. An oracle should appear and inform us of that which we seek ... It might not be admissible in court." Hermione lips twitched in an effort to contain her humour, "when you put it like that," she giggled. Greg grinned unrepentantly back at her, "I'll have to try that on Grissom one of these days, just to see the look on his face." Laughing, Hermione suggested, "better yet try Sara... Maybe not, I think she'd explode." Greg chuckled picturing it.  
  
"Would you believe one of the reasons potions interested me was because it was so logical, structured, more science than magic. And unlike magic, success and failure in potion making are not rooted in something as capricious as blood." Hermione held herself still, unwilling to respond to the sudden change in the tenor of their conversation. Greg spoke again angrily, "Do you know, you will never have any more magic ability than you had the day you were born. The power was always there, inside you, you just didn't know how to access it." 'As good a theory as any, but can you prove it,' Hermione thought quietly, having spent many hours contemplating the origin of magic. She was, however, reluctant to ask the question, this seemed to be familliar territory for Greg, and not at all for her benefit. She listened silently as Greg lectured on, "True, there are ways of augmenting your power, but few seek them out. Most can't even be bothered to explore the boundaries of the own magic, let alone get more, content instead to hold their traditional roles, learning only what others already know. In science however, advancements are always being made, nothing is sacred, very little is feared, and knowledge is something to be earned, not given."   
  
Greg chose that moment to add the troublesome cinnamonum zeylanicum to his potion causing it to spit and hiss with irritation. It shook Greg out of his stupor, "however, in all things there seems to be a certain degree of luck." Cringing worriedly, he took the cauldron off the fire, unfortunately, this only served to agitate the potion further. Greg's face lit with inspiration, holding the cauldron, he positioned it under Hermione's face, causing her eyes and nose to burn. "Spit," Greg ordered calmly. She jerked back, "What?" sputtered Hermione, chocking on the noxious fumes emanating from the cauldron. Greg replied, "It isn't going to calm down on it's own ... Spit." "Was that supposed to make sense?" Hermione wheezed. Greg waited silently, growing impatient, "oh, fine," she said, "anything to get this out of my face." Hermione spat into the cauldron. Greg peered at the potion through watery eyes and perceived no change. He commanded again, "spit." Inwardly rolling her eyes, far to painful to actually attempt at the moment, Hermione spat again into the cauldron. Without waiting to examine the potion for improvement, of which there was none, Greg said, "and once more." This time Hermione glared openly at him, screwing her eyes shut, she thought, 'breathing in this is next to impossible, never mind expectorating on command,' Hermione spat, 'and, so help me, if he tells me to do that one more time I'll...' "There," Greg whispered in wonder. Opening her eyes Hermione saw that the irritating cinnamon filled clouds had dissipated. The cauldron hanging from Greg's hand was now silent, the potion at peace, emitting a light mist, faintly blue in colour, that wafted gently over the edges of it's container. His face a mask of concentration, Greg poured the contents of the cauldron into a waiting flask and snapped the lid shut.   
  
"Here," Greg said thrusting the potion into Hermione's outstretched hands while divesting her of her apron. "Gather your things," he paused, allowing her to do so before herding her towards the door, then continued, "and make for the infirmary, get Dumbledore and McGonagall there too. I'm going to need them." "Wait," Hermione protested as Greg tried to open the door that led back to Hogwarts, "will this potion cure Professor Snape?" "No … At least not yet," Greg hedged, opening the door, "it still needs," he broke off and moved his eyes away from hers, "it's still missing a few ingredients," he finished emotionlessly. "But ..." Hermione was silenced again as Greg turned her and propelled her none too gently through the door. "We don't have time for this. Go," he said abruptly and slammed the door shut after her, hiding it from the hall as he should have done hours ago.   
  
Hermione quickly turned back, ready to fight her way into the room of requirement once more and came face to face with a solid stone wall. The door to the room had vanished without a trace, 'no doubt under Greg's orders. Just when I think I'm getting close...," Hermione though with a trace of bitterness. Shaking her head and cradling the potion to her chest, she made her way to the hospital wing, keeping an eye out for either Professor McGonagall or Headmaster Dumbledore, though they were more likely to be at Professor Snape's side than anywhere else. Hermione's mind wandered, 'for someone who abhors magic, he seems to have no difficulty bending it to is will, and after years of abstinence too.' Belatedly Hermione remembered her earlier conversation with Dumbledore, his voice sounding in her mind.   
  
"This student showed impressive intelligence, talent and  
power, greater than my own or Voldemort's, or even the   
two combined."   
  
Hermione couldn't conceive how much strength of will it would take to harness that much power, 'that much control would be hard won, if, indeed, it had been won at all. After all, how welcoming would the wizarding world be, if practicing magic put your safety and sanity at risk?' Hermione paused mid-step, perturbed by the implications her theory was raising, not just about Greg but Professor Dumbledore as well. 'Don't go jumping to conclusions Mione,' her subconscious instructed, 'not when you don't know all the facts.' Hermione resolved to head back to the library at the earliest opportunity for more research.  
  
Inside the room of requirements, Greg donned his robe with barely disguised disdain and began filling a nearby pack with implements necessary to fulfill his plan, including a salve he had made earlier, the remaining ingredients, and a few other items Greg hoped would soon prove useful. Grabbing the bag, Greg headed towards a door that had materialized in the left hand back corner of the lab. Pausing at one of the counters, Greg sorted through a pile of scrolls and lifted the one he had been writing on earlier, rolling it up tight. 'Sorry Hermione,' he thought, glancing first at the blank wall where the door which led back to Hogwarts had stood, and then at the scroll clutched in his fist. Turning again to face the new door, which now stood open before him, he walked through, lifting his hood, and consigning his features to shadow once more, 'some secrets are meant to be kept.'

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A/N #3: Please Review.


	12. Ichor part 1

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)  
  
A.N.: The following chapter has been split into two parts. The second half will be up soon.  
  
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She entered the hospital wing quietly; more out of deference than necessity. While Professor Snape was beyond hearing any noise she might make, Madame Pomfrey was not. Hermione inwardly resolved to be that much quieter. Once on the bad side of Hogwarts resident medi-witch, it was difficult to get out of it, and Madame Pomfrey had been gifted with a very long memory. With all this in mind, the gasp she made at the sight unfolding before her startled her with its volume. Despite the dim light, Hermione could plainly see someone at Professor Snape's bedside, though cloak and hood concealed their identity, siphoning blood from a wound on Snape's arm into an awaiting bowl. At Hermione's involuntary inhalation, the cloaked figure jerked, causing the hood to fall back, and turned slowly to face Hermione.  
  
"How on earth did you get here before me?" Hermione asked, completely flabbergasted as the infirmary doors drifted shut behind her. Ignoring the question, Greg turned back towards Snape. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice skirting the border of accusation. Greg's back stiffened perceptibly, he spoke coolly in response, "you weren't meant to see this." He began placing fresh bandages on the wound, which did little to staunch the meager trickle of blood. Hermione moved closer, persisting, "You didn't get very much, " she observed, cautiously gesturing towards the bowl Greg held cradled in his arms, his quiet reply struck a cord within her, "he doesn't have very much left to give." Growing frustrated, Hermione pleaded, "Greg, why…" "Hermione," Greg snapped, clearly reaching the end of his patience, "you didn't see this." A chilled silence followed, disturbed only by the troubled breathing of Professor Snape, while Greg transferred the contents of the bowl into a small vile, which he then secreted into a pocket of his bag. Hermione searched for a neutral topic, to break the silence, "I couldn't find Headmaster Dumbledore…" Greg snorted derisively, "how could you, he was here when I arrived. Didn't stay long though…" he finished, smirking. "Why would he?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrow, she continued sarcastically, "when you make him feel so very welcome." Greg continued talking as though Hermione hadn't interrupted, growing more agitated as he went along, "he went to fetch McGonagall, and volunteered… to distract Madame Pomfrey. I was quite emphatic… She must not be allowed to interfere." At this, Greg gave a hiccup of hysterical laughter and then closed his eyes, shuddering. Hermione drew back, uneasily, and felt sure he had been quoting someone then, but she couldn't tell who.  
  
Hermione watched silently, from the shadows of the room, as Greg regained control over his wayward emotions, leaving his normally expressive face blank and empty. Reaching into his satchel once more, Greg retrieved an ornate chalice from within and extended his hand in Hermione's direction, gesturing for the potion she still held. Confused, Hermione handed it to Greg, 'I don't think I know anyone who can repress so easily and soldier on,' she thought contemplating his controlled movements as he skillfully transferred the potion out of the bottle and into the cup. 'He's trying but… it's too much… his anger… And however divorced from the situation he claims to be, I don't think he'll survive losing Professor Snape. I don't think I want to be there when he loses control.' Greg's hands stilled as the hospital doors opened once more, this time to admit the not so hushed figures of Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore.   
  
Intending to ignore them for as long as possible, Greg began setting up a medium sized cauldron and fire pit at the foot of Professor Snape's bed. Greg instructed coldly, over his shoulder, "Set up the candles, Gryffindor, if it isn't too difficult?" Hermione rolled her eyes at the jibe but remained silent, instead she glared mutinously at the pile of thick white candles, 'set them up how exactly?' she thought, exasperatedly, 'since I have no idea what you want done with them, or why you're being so bloody -' "If I may, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore, interrupting her mental rant, moved up beside her and tapped his foot once on the floor. In the floor, near where Dumbledore had struck, cobblestones began to rise half a foot, and spread, taking the outline of a rough circle, encompassing the room. Favouring the Headmaster with a wan smile of thanks, Hermione began positioning the candles on the raised bricks, careful to keep them a few inches apart.  
  
Professor Dumbledore returned to where Professor McGonagall waited, and lending her his arm, escorted her inside the circle. Strapping a sheathed dagger to his waist, Greg could stem the tide of his anger no longer as Professor McGonagall's whisperings reached his ears. "Oh, Albus…" Minerva's hand tightened its grip, feasting her eyes on Greg's profile, "how very like -" Professor McGonagall stepped backwards as Greg whirled around suddenly to face her. Greg took a menacing step towards Professor McGonagall, eyes blazing with anger as he all but spat words at her, "you'd be surprised, how very little interest I hold anything you have to say." McGonagall blanched at the verbal attack, prompting Dumbledore to move between them, murmuring a warning, "Gregori…" "Ever the great protector, shame you're not better at it." Greg said sneering before retreating once again behind a mask of indifference. Like Professor McGonagall, Hermione stood frozen in place, hands clenched tightly around the last two candles, watching the confrontation unfolding before her. Hermione's stillness drew Greg's attention away from Headmaster Dumbledore, "stop dawdling, girl, or do you need someone to hold your hand?" he said, lashing out at Hermione. Eyes narrowing, she glared malevolent at his back. "No," Hermione said, icily, slamming the candles on the floor with a thump, "I'm quite finished." Lips twitching at her mild fit of pique, Greg ordered everyone to assume their assigned positions.  
  
Unwilling to lose his temper once more, Greg spoke to Professor McGonagall, without facing her. "Stand there," he said, pointing, "and administer the potion; When I tell you, not before." Still shaken, the Professor of Transfiguration moved to her place swiftly and without argument. Greg then positioned himself in front of the cauldron, facing the comatose figure of Professor Snape. Behind him, within easy reach, was a table, upon which he had set out the supplies, including the potion filled goblet. Hermione he placed to his right, beside the cauldron, and Dumbledore on his left completing the triangle. "Right then," Greg said quietly, drawing the dagger from its sheath, "nobody move."   
  
"Fluxionis," he whispered in the stillness, causing the blade of the dagger to glow and emit a faint hum. Holding the dagger out before him at arms length, Greg closed his eyes concentrating, "exundo," he whispered again, harshly. With startling suddenness, magical energy erupted out of Greg, and into everyone else in the room, except Professor Snape, through the dagger; now blazing white; so bright it hurt to behold. Three tethers of energy, magic, flowing and crackling, with a will all its own, connected them all to the dagger, and to Greg. With a visible effort Greg raised up over his head, speaking through clenched teeth, "ut supra," a fourth bolt of light shot out of the knife's point, slamming into the ceiling. A gust of wind burst forth, rushing without source, tearing at their hair and robes. Hermione could barely hear Greg shouting as he pointed the dagger towards the floor, "tam infra," a fifth tendril of magic originated from the athame and struck the floor. Feeling the energy pounding relentlessly, pulsing through her, Hermione felt as though it was shattering her mind. She could see Greg struggling to raise the dagger once more to staff length. Greg shouted hoarsely, "obsignare!" At this, the connections severed, and the magic back lashed, violently rebound through each of them and out to the circle of candles, all of which burst into blue flame simultaneously.  
  
The wind died instantly. Blinking owlishly, Hermione could see Snape resting unaffected, though he was the only one. Hermione felt as though she had been struck by lightening and began checking herself over for damages. Raising her hand to her chest, where the magic had struck, Hermione was surprised to find herself unmarked. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall also looked decidedly worse for wear. Turning she saw Greg, apparently focused entirely on prying the spent dagger out of his hand and returning it to the sheath at his side. Sensing her weighted gaze upon him, Greg raised his head, revealing his haggard appearance. 'He spared us. Whatever damage inflicted during that spell,' Hermione thought, concerned, 'he has born the brunt of it. And why do I get the feeling that was the easy part?' When Greg felt he had everyone's attention, he spoke grimly, "the circle is cast."   
  
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A.N.: I was going to make you ask for it but...  
  
Badly Translated Latin 101:  
  
_fluxionis_ = flow, _exundo_ = overflow, _ut supra_ = as above, _tam infra_ = so below, _obsignare_ = seal  
  
A.N.: please review ;-) 


	13. Ichor part 2

A.N. #1: Dedicated to my friend John: you have gone where I cannot follow, Make a place

for me there and I will keep you in my heart.

A.N. #2: There is quite a bit of Gaelic in this chapter, for reason I hope will become clear. Rough translations are included at the end. I say 'rough translations' because I don't speak Gaelic and I got my brother to translate for me. Hopefully what I wanted to say and what is actually written don't differ too much, fingers crossed.

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

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Greg put one hand out, braced himself against the table and struggled to catch his breath, inwardly cursing his growing tiredness. "I don't understand," said Hermione haltingly, gazing bewilderedly first at Greg then at Headmaster Dumbledore, "what was that?" It was Greg who answered, snidely, "one would think, after six years of study, you would be able to at least recognize it..." "Magic," Dumbledore intoned gravely, of the Wiccan variety, with a few modifications, I suspect." "Congratulations," Greg said caustically, "ten points to Dumbledore." He laughed softly taking in Hermione's still puzzled expression. "Dear me," Greg chastised, "still not teaching them anything useful? Why am I not surprised." Greg turned and began riffling through the objects on the table, organizing them. He addressed Hermione coldly over his shoulder, "magic is real Gryffindor, do try and keep up."

"I know that," Hermione snapped, her frustration mounting, "but that wasn't ..." Greg shook his head at her ignorance and sneered in response, "did you honestly think there was only one kind of magic in this wide world?" "Utter nonsense," interjected Professor McGonagall abruptly, "the existence of other magic has never been successfully proven. Any investigation of the phenomenon always ends up attributed to hysteria and muggle delusions. It's a myth, nothing more." "Myth, hmm," Greg said darkly, his hand fingering the hilt of the dagger at his side, "why then is the practice of these impossible magics prohibited by the ever useless ministry?" The Transfigurations Professor's eyes widened at this, "vanguard...," was her feeble rejoinder. Raising a querying eyebrow, Greg inquired, "against something that doesn't exist? Hardly." Professor McGonagall was at a loss for words, Hermione, however, was not. "Did you say prohibited?" she asked nervously, inwardly pondering possible punishments devised by the Ministry for this particular infraction. "Relax Gryffindor," Greg drawled, "if the Ministry were capable of discovering even half of what goes on within these walls, the school would have been closed along time ago. But know this," Greg raised his voice to address all three, "I'm committed to this. I will do whatever it takes, forbidden or not; dark or not; everything within my power, and yours, to see this through; whatever is required." With a pointed look at Professor McGonagall, he challenged, "anyone who has a problem with that should leave."

Affronted, McGonagall gathered Miss Granger to her side and strode purposefully towards the candle perimeter. As she reached it, Greg spoke again, mockingly, "that is, if you can..." Uncomprehending and wary, Minerva attempted to extend her arm forward, past the boundary of encircling candles only to be rebuffed by an invisible, impenetrable wall. Startled by this turn of events, Professor McGonagall turned to Headmaster Dumbledore for guidance. He stood shaking his head at her, in the hopes that she would provoke Greg no further, "We demanded his aid, we must do as he instructs and face whatever consequences befall us," he whispered, "for Severus," he reminded gently. "But Miss Granger -," Minerva said worriedly. "Has made her choice," Albus interrupted in a tone that brooked no opposition. Chastened, Professor McGonagall resumed her position, beside Professor Snape comatose form, resolving to follow Greg's commands and ignore his petty jibes, all the while thinking, 'insufferable, atrocious behavior, surely we taught him better than that. If we get out of this I'm going to give that boy the scolding of a lifetime... When, when we get out of this.'

Hermione inspected the air in front of her but could see no physical evidence of a barrier. Resolutely she raised her wand, aimed it and prepared to cast a harmless charm. "I wouldn't do that if I were you...," Greg said, suddenly at her side, breaking her concentration. He raised his hand and ran it slowly across the shield, stroking; an almost unreadable expression on his face. "The circle is closed," he whispered softly, more to himself than Hermione. "Those aren't just words, are they?" she asked hesitantly. "Words have power all there own," Greg replied enigmatically. Tiring of their verbal game cat and mouse, Hermione asked bluntly, "what is it?" "Protection," he answered, his face expressionless once more. Her eyes closed as Hermione's mind thought up and discarded a handful of scenarios which could require a shield of this sort until she was left with the one that unnerved her the most. Hermione's eyes shot open as she broke the silence, "you're not protecting us are you?" "Did you think it would be easy?" Greg snapped, "I'd wave my wand; snap my fingers; close my eyes and make a wish, and everything would be alright again." He starred morosely at Professor Snape, "how can you live in this world and be so naïve?"

Greg shook his head, as if to clear it, and walked back over to the table. Without looking he tossed something at Hermione, over his left shoulder; Hermione scrambled to catch it before it struck the floor. "Put it on," Greg ordered as Hermione opened her fist to reveal an aventurine pendant on a copper chain. Greg sauntered over to where Headmaster Dumbledore stood, still whispering council in Professor McGonagall's ear. "Whenever you're ready...," Greg intoned pompously, mocking Professor Dumbledore's earlier message as he dangled a hematite pendant from a silver chain. Greg then placed an amber stone in each of Severus' hands, before putting on his own pendant, amethyst from a golden chain. With difficulty the Headmaster maneuvered the chain over his pointed hat, and pulled his long white hair through, letting the stone rest visibly on his beard. Albus nodded in satisfaction, pleased with his new bauble. Meanwhile, Greg flicked something at Professor McGonagall. Minerva stared at her prize in consternation, speaking querulously, "a wooden matchstick. What, may I ask, am I supposed to do with this?" Greg pouted slightly and replied, "Your specialty of course; matchsticks into sewing needles. I so wanted you to feel useful." He went back to his supplies, saying sarcastically over his shoulder, "Don't say I never gave you anything."

Greg grabbed two rather large glass bottles from the table, both clearly marked with white crucifixes, and emptied the contents in the waiting cauldron, immediately lighting a fire underneath it. "Pass me the wormwood, Gryffindor. It needs to soak first before we add anything else." Hermione handed the baggy, marked Artemisia Absinthium, to Greg saying, "I thought you'd already made the potion..." Sighing, Greg looked down his nose at her, careful to keep one eye on his concoction as it turned a sickly shade of green. "It's not a potion, it's an offering," he said briskly. Hermione's next question died on her lips as a faint green mist began to rise from the cauldron. She backed away immediately, recalling the noxious cinnamon cloud earlier. "Masterwort, quickly," Greg said imperiously, his hand extended, "and try not to inhale." Greg looked at Hermione then and winked impishly. The action passed so quickly Hermione was almost sure she had imagined it. Greg emptied the plastic container into the cauldron; the frenetic bubbling dispersed the mashed leaves and the colour of the mixture deepened to a forest green.

On and on it went; adding one ingredient after another till the liquid and the smoke which emanated an inch or two above were both light grey in colour. Despite their proximity to an open flame, Hermione felt her surroundings grow progressively colder as each substance was added to the cauldron. A shiver stole over her as Greg asked for the last ingredient. "Professor McGonagall, you're big moment," he said emotionlessly, "make it deep." Greg held his outstretched arm palm up as the Deputy Headmistress approached and, after a brief hesitation, thrust the wickedly sharp needle deep into his hand. Discarding the needle onto the table, Greg watched dispassionately as blood began to well up from the wound. Greg opened his mouth and began to chant over the blood cupped in his hand. "A Bhandhia Bhríd, a mháthair bhuan. Impímid ort. Bain amach smál an oilc de. Cosain ar ionsaí an truaillaithe é. Coinnigh lámh an bháis uaidh. Go nglantar é; Go slánaítear é. Amach á fuil, féith, smior agus cnáimh, Go leigheastar é go hiomlán."

The air in the circle grew heavy and thick. The very act of drawing and expelling breath became laboured. "Chant," Greg command. They all looked at Greg in askance, they didn't know the words. Hermione didn't even know the language and it was all she could do not to shout in frustration. She was on the verge of doing just that when Hermione felt the words being pulled from her mind; felt her mouth struggle to form them and her body expel them with shuddering breath. "A Bhandhia Bhríd, a mháthair bhuan. Impímid ort. Bain amach smál an oilc de. Cosain ar ionsaí an truaillaithe é. Coinnigh lámh an bháis uaidh. Go nglantar é; Go slánaítear é. Amach á fuil, féith, smior agus cnáimh, Go leigheastar é go hiomlán." Her eyes widened as she her herself pleading in a language of old as though born to it. The words rested on the air, echoing around the room and growing in strength as the four repeated the chant over and over again. "A Bhandhia Bhríd, a mháthair bhuan. Impímid ort. Bain amach smál an oilc de. Cosain ar ionsaí an truaillaithe é. Coinnigh lámh an bháis uaidh. Go nglantar é; Go slánaítear é. Amach á fuil, féith, smior agus cnáimh, Go leigheastar é go hiomlán."

Greg held his hand palm down over the cauldron, and continued chanting as his life's blood fell into the mist. The instant the blood hit the mixture, they were all struck silent. Greg yanked his hand back as a column of purest white light erupted from the cauldron. The smoke and light merged together, taking shape, form, and voice, "Cò Gabh Ort?" Tiredly Greg raised his still bloodied hand, "that would be me." Without warning the Being flew at him in a blinding flash. Startled into paralysis Albus, Hermione and Minerva could only listen to Greg's screams as the Being attacked him. Blinking to regain sight, Hermione found herself staring at Greg, or rather what Greg had become. The air shimmered around his body, dancing with light and heat. It hurt to look upon him, yet Hermione could not turn her face away. Then he opened his eyes, pure white now, all trace of colour gone and brimming with power. He looked upon Dumbledore, McGonagall and Granger in turn. Hermione shuddered visibly as the eyes turned away from her, trying vainly to understand the myriad of emotions they had caused.

"Come," Greg spoke in an unearthly voice, "this vessel is weakened. Bring me the draught." Professor McGonagall stumbled forward, the chalice quivering in her outstretched hands. Greg closed his right hand and held it over the goblet. When the hand opened, Hermione could see blood pooling once more, however the blood flowing from the fresh wound was not red but purest white. 'Like his eyes,' she thought. Fear welled up, drowning out all other emotions, 'he's no longer human...' 'Be at ease Daughter.' The voice sounded in her head, bypassing her ears entirely, 'we do what we must.' Strangely Hermione was calmed by this and kept silent as Greg added his drastically altered blood to the potion, which Professor McGonagall subsequently fed to Professor Snape.

"It is not enough," Greg said as his hand began to glow. He took hold of Professor Dumbledore's right hand, and Hermione's left, fusing them together with his own saying, "we do what we must." Unable to stop him, Professor McGonagall watched as light and magic flared out of Greg and into the Headmaster and Miss Granger. All three stood as mirror images to the others, heads thrown back; mouths open in silent screams; each a picture of exquisite pain. The stones around their necks burned also as the light slammed out of Professor Dumbledore's and Hermione's free hands, and into Professor Snape. Wave after wave of energy tore through them on its way to Severus, raising him clear off the bed. Suddenly it was done, the very absence of light caused Minerva's eyes to water and blink as the adjusted to the dimness of candle fire.

From her vantage point, Professor McGonagall could see Miss Granger and Professor Dumbledore collapsed on the floor and she would have gone to them had it not been for Greg. He was still conscious and kneeling on the floor; his eyes open, but unseeing. Minerva watched as the being separated from Greg, it's brightness dimmed by their expenditures. The being, now human and feminine in shape, placed a hand on each side of Greg's face and lowered her head to his. "No!" Professor McGonagall cried out, unthinking. The Goddess continued her actions, unheeding and spoke, as she had done earlier to Hermione, into Minerva's mind, in a distinctly pitying tone, 'Beachdaich ei a tabhartas.' At the instant her lips touched Greg's forehead, light flared at the point of contact. The ring of candle light sputtered and faded into nothing, taking the protective barrier with it. The Goddess vanished. Greg fell to the floor, slamming his head against the unyielding stone and slid, finally, into merciful unconsciousness.

* * *

A.N. #3:

Cò Gabh Ort?

_Who Dares?_

Beachdaich ei a tabhartas.

_Consider it a gift._

The Chant reads as follows:

A Bhandhia Bhríd, a mháthair bhuan.

_Goddess Brigid, immortal mother._

Impímid ort.

_We beseech._

Bain amach smál an oilc de.

_Remove the fluid of the vile._

Cosain ar ionsaí an truaillaithe é.

_Thwart the attack of the taint._

Coinnigh lámh an bháis uaidh.

_Repel the hand of death._

Go nglantar é;

_Let him be cleansed;_

Go slánaítear é.

_Let him be healed;_

Amach á fuil, féith, smior agus cnáimh,

_Out of blood, sinew, marrow and bone,_

Go leigheastar é go hiomlán.

_Let him be made whole._

A.N. #4: Còrd lèirmheas ;-) _Please Review ;-)_


	14. If We Shadows Have Offended

A.N.#1: _I haven't actually edited this yet, I was just so anxious to get it up. Also this chapter contains some disturbing situations, be warned._

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

¯ _I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places... _¯ 

With a sudden start Greg opened his eyes and winced.

"Ha, ha, very funny, Nick. As if I would ever listen to that," he grumbled loudly. Laughter rang out from down the hall as Greg switched from radio to cd and pressed play. ¯ _As life hangs beside me, I gather all that I can..._ ¯ Greg's head moved subconsciously in time with the music.

'Whoa, I could have sworn I was...' Abandoning the thought he grinned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

'God, what a nightmare. I can't believe I feel asleep at work.' He looked around the lab, through the glass walls at all the empty rooms and halls. Grabbing a stack of pages out of the printer, Greg checked his watch.

'Grissom should have been after me for these hours ago... Where is everyone?' He walked out the D.N.A. lab and turned left, only to hear the echo of voices behind him. 'Alright, I'll try this way,' choosing to follow the voices, hoping they led to Grissom. Pushing his way through a pair of swinging doors Greg found himself standing in the morgue.

Looking around in confusion at his surroundings and the crowd of people, he spoke,

"What? I shouldn't be... This shouldn't be here." No one took any notice of his ramblings. They were all focused on the operating table they had surrounded. Greg, seeing someone he recognized, asked,

"Nick, what's going on?"

"Hey, Greggo... You here for the show? Want some popcorn?" Greg stared at Nick incredulously,

"No, thanks," he replied hesitantly, "Um, have you seen Grissom recently?" Nick's reply was lost as Doc Robbins voice echoed over the crowd.

"Can I have a volunteer, please?"

"Over here," Nick announced, "Greg you'll love this," and pushed him towards the center of the crowd. Warrick wandered over to where Nick was standing and helped himself to some popcorn.

"That was kind of mean," Warrick observed.

"Nah," Nick grinned, "it'll be funny, watch."

Greg was soon pushed to the front of the circle, despite his resistance and was faced with Doc Robbins in the middle of a rather bloody autopsy. Greg's stomach rolled in revulsion and his vision wavered. He would have turned away if the doc hadn't chosen that moment to ask for his hand. Looking out over those gathered at this macabre event, Greg got the distinct impression he wasn't really being given a choice. Warily Greg extended his hand and shocked when the doctor dropped a freshly harvested heart into it. Greg felt bile rising in his throat amidst the laughter and accolades of the audience. He recoiled in horror as the heart still clasped in hand began to beat.

"Ahhhhhh!" Greg screamed, the organ and the papers he still carried, slipped from his nerveless fingers, as he ran through crowd, back out into the hall way. Vicious taunts echoed behind him as he slid to the floor, quietly throwing up. Wiping his mouth with a bloody hand, he tried to calm himself.

"Greg, are you alright? You don't look so good." Catherine asked, her voice filled with concern. Greg looked up at her from his vantage point, huddled on the floor.

"Did you cut yourself; you're covered in blood..." Catherine helped him to his feet. Wrinkling her nose at the state of him, she ignored the pool of vomit on the floor. Blearily, Greg tried to piece together the chain of events which had led to puking on the floor.

"It was... In the morgue... All these people, Nick and Warrick I think... And blood... And then in my hands..." he attempted to explain.

Catherine shook her head, and said dismissively, "Oh, you know how those two can get on a slow night. Boys will be boys. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

With that she picked up the basket she had been carrying and escorted Greg into the break-room, albeit a dramatically altered one. Looking through the door Greg saw that it now led into a thickly wooded area. He shrugged his shoulders and walked in,

'It's not the weirdest thing I've seen today,' he thought, letting the incident in the morgue fall from his mind. Greg followed Catherine as she made her way through the forest of trees.

"So," Greg said, endeavoring polite conversation, "the break-room is now a forest?"

"Uh huh," Catherine affirmed, "so I can keep a closer eye on Lindsey."

Greg paused, pondering the clearly absent logic. "Um, that doesn't make any sense," he said unwilling to let it lie.

Catherine rolled her eyes in response. "Sure it does," she countered, "I can't have her wandering around the lab. That just wouldn't be safe."

Greg shook as head fighting an oncoming headache as they reached a picturesque clearing in the forest, with it own babbling brook. Without prompting Greg knelt down at the bank of the stream and began washing his hands and face. Much refreshed, Greg now felt ready to resume his search for Grissom. Catherine stood off to one side, leaning against a large stone. Her attention was focused on the other side of the stream, behind Greg. A pleasant, almost indulgent expression passed over her face, something Greg hadn't seen in a long while. Greg felt a calm steal over him, one that was quickly shattered as he turned and took in the scene playing out before him, across the stream.

Lindsey sat cross legged on a spread blanket with the now empty basket overturned in front of her. Greg was frozen as he watched a Mojave rattler slither slowly out, to rest coiled in front of Lindsey. Greg snapped out of his paralysis and jumped into the stream attempting to wade across. In his haste, he lost his footing on a rock and submerged underwater. Breaking the surface he found himself standing, soaking wet and gasping for breath, on the bank of the stream once more, helplessly watching Lindsey and the snake. He moved forward only to be stopped by Catherine.

"Don't interfere," Catherine insisted, "she's making a new friend."

"It's a snake!" Greg exploded, "a poisonous snake."

"Now, now, appearances can be deceiving," she said, looking on fondly as Lindsey stroked the snake and whispered her secrets to it. With a sigh, Catherine turned to face Greg once more and raised a hand to his cheek.

"You cannot deny who you are," she advised. Strains of music filled the air. ¯ _I closed my eyes and closed myself and closed my world..._ ¯ Distracted Greg turned to look back through the trees, trying to pin point the source.

"What is with that music?" Greg questioned. Catherine seemed to hear neither the music nor Greg's inquiry. Then her voice sounded in his head, though her mouth made no movement.

'It's a coping mechanism. There's obviously something you don't want to hear.' Before Greg could reply to the mental invasion, Nick chose that moment to fight his way through the forest.

"Ah, Greg, there you are. Griss, was looking for you, he needs those results," Nick announced filled with self-importance. Having delivered his message, he promptly forgot it and looked around, grinning vacuously.

"Oh, pretty," Nick exclaimed. Greg, still smarting from Nick's earlier prank, frowned and closed his eyes. Greg felt a wind dancing around him, rushing in his ears and pulling at his clothes, finally drowning out the music. Opening his eyes, Greg saw that he had left the break-room. He stood with a worried expression on his face directly in front of Grissom's office.

"There's no point in hiding Greg," Grissom's voice sounded through the open door. Greg's heart seized at this,

'Oh, God, what if he saw me appear?' Greg thought, as he began to panic.

Grissom spoke again, "That's the problem with glass houses, Greg, you can see right through them."

Screwing his eyes shut, Greg entered the room, vainly searching his mind for a plausible explanation as to his sudden appearance in the hall.

"Grissom...," Greg said and broke off, all coherent thought abandoning him. Chaos reined in the normally cluttered, but generally organized office.

"What happened?" Greg asked mystified, "first the break room and now this..." Never had he seen a room so altered. Gone were the mysterious samples floating in formaldehyde, the diagrams, all Grissom's specimens, everything that made the room what it was, vanished. All that remained was a barren shell, an alarmingly clean, barren shell.

"Out with the old, Greg," Grissom announced gleefully.

Greg halted his surveillance, querying in a panicked tone, "You're leaving?"

Grissom paused his packing and walked around his desk to face Greg, speaking all the while in a calming almost paternal tone. "Greg, I am always here. I'm just cleaning house, as it were." Grissom moved back to his desk and taped a box shut.

"The Tangiers is hosting a natural history exhibit." Gil added by way of explanation.

Slightly incredulous Greg inquired, "So you're lending them the contents of your office? For how long?"

"Oh, it's not a loan," Grissom clarified, smiling beatifically, "it's a gift. I've found my true calling.

'God, not you too... What is with everyone today?' Greg pushed down his mounting frustration.

"Grissom, believe me when I say this," Greg cajoled, "this is your calling."

"I'm not going anywhere. In fact I've found a new specimen," Grissom assured him, reaching under his desk freeing a small cardboard box from the ether, its contents rattling.

"It's got statistically proven death rate of 3.2 percent yearly, world wide." With that Gil opened the box with a flourish.

Not knowing what to expect Greg chose that moment to duck and cover. When nothing happened, Greg rose, ignoring Grissom's mocking expression, and peered cautiously into the box.

'Bottle caps...' Greg looked back at Grissom, waiting for the punch line. "What the hell Grissom?" Greg all but shouted, lashing out at the box with his arm, overturning it and scattering the contents.

"Greg," Grissom spoke sternly, all trace of humour gone, "you've worked here how long and you still haven't learned not to tamper with evidence?"

"Evidence of what Grissom?" Greg put forth snidely, "the onset of senility?"

Completely disregarding Greg's outburst Grissom spoke softly to himself, "Now I have to start all over again."

Greg backed out of the room silently, never taking his eyes of the sight of Grissom hunched over, picking his precious bottle caps off the floor. Concentrating so absolutely, Greg failed to notice the body on the floor, until he tripped over it.

'I'm going to kill Nick,' Greg fumed silently, thinking that this was just another of Nick's practical jokes.

"Dammit Nick," he swore, picking himself up off the ground. Greg stooped to grab the rather lifelike dummy yanking his hand back in shock when it, she moaned.

"Fuck, Sara!" Greg exclaimed in shock, dropping to the floor beside her. ¯ _Feel just like I'm sinking and I claw for solid ground... _¯

"Help!" Greg shouted rolling her over gently, he cradled her in his lap, "I need help out here!" When no one came he took matters into his own hands.

"_Mobilicorpus_," he whispered. Taking her carefully in his arms, Greg carried Sara into the washroom, and laid her down on the counter. Ripping off a piece of his shirt, Greg wet it and tried to clean her wounds. With shaking hands he washed the blood off her face, revealing the severity of the beating that had clearly taken place.

"I'll kill whoever did this," Greg swore.

"It wasn't you fault," she said hoarsely through dried lips. Greg dropped the cloth at the sound of her voice. The eye not swollen shut opened slowly.

"Ahhh. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she whispered attempting to smile.

Greg hiccupped a bark of laughter, "now is not the time to be making bad jokes," he mumbled, through his tears. Sara tried to raise her self out of her supine position.

"No!" Greg said emphatically, restraining her movements, "you need to lie still, I called for help..."

"It's all right now," she broke off, coughing, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. Greg grimaced and raised the cloth again to wipe it away.

"It's not alright," he said, trying to persuade her, "you've been badly beaten..." His voice drifted away as her hand came up, stopping his and capturing his hand to her face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you," she said earnestly.

"Sara, what are you talking about?" Greg asked confusedly.

She continued unheeding, "I just got so lost. I had to take the chance... To end it, Gregori, so you would be safe from him."

Greg watched in alarm as Sara's features shifted under his hand, her hair lengthening and curling, only the blood and bruising remained the same.

"You're dead!" Greg spat tearing his hand away, "I watched you die!"

Greg's mother stood before him, looking much as she had the last time he had seen her. Greg backed away from her, barely resisting the urge to punch the wall.

"My son..." she whispered sadly.

"Stop it!" Greg exploded, interrupting her, "you lost that right when you left me, save your platitudes for someone who cares. You saw a way out and you took it. It's not like you wanted me to begin with, I know very well how I was made." Greg turned away lowering his head.

"You are my son, and I will always fight for you, even when you refuse to fight for yourself." Her words fell like stones upon him, bearing him down to the floor.

"You're not real, this isn't happening." Silence met his cries. Raising his head, Greg met Brass' dumbfounded expression. ¯ _They ask me where the hell I'm going... _¯

"Been spending time under the fume hood again, Sanders?" Brass asked shaking his head. He finished washing his hand and moved to stand directly in front of the still crouching Greg.

"Do you mind?" Brass asked, gesturing with dripping hands. Puzzled Greg looked around and blushed, realizing that Brass wanted to dry his hands and couldn't.

"Never mind," Brass said rolling his eyes and shaking his hands dry. "Don't get up," he called out as he left.

Anxiety propelled Greg forward. "Brass? Wait..." Greg shouted after him, fumbling with the door, "have you seen Sara today? ... Brass?" The corridor was empty.

'I don't think anyone here could move that fast.' Greg thought looking both ways. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a door closing at the far end of the hall and went for it. Reaching the door Greg realized it was one of the witness examination rooms.

'I probably shouldn't just barge in.' he thought moving over to the next door on the right, 'and I've always wanted to try one of these things.' Greg walked into the room quietly and looked through the mirror. Unfortunately Brass was nowhere in sight.

BANG

In his hast, Greg kicked the door to the exam room open and barreled in. Neither occupant took any notice. ¯ _Defunct the strings of cemetery things... _¯

"Hello to you to Gregori," Hermione said, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. An enrobed figure sat in front of Hermione, dipping a paintbrush into a cup he held in his hand. He raised it to Hermione's face and continued painting. Greg couldn't tell what, the markings refused to stay still and let him focus. Wincing as his eyes watered, he squeezed them shut and shook his head.

"It's a disguise... to veil... to cloak... to conceal..." Hermione's cool tones slid into Greg's head forcing his eyes open.

"What are you doing here?" Greg asked, annoyed.

"You can ask me that, with a straight face? Fight or flight, Gregori. ...just following in your footsteps," she replied pouting slightly.

"Right," Greg said attempting to humour her, "and what's he doing here?"

Hermione treated them both to a winning smile, before answering, "practicing of course, he wants everything to be perfect."

Greg pretended to ponder that, "uh huh... Does any of this seem really weird to you?"

Hermione shook her head slightly, responding in the negative, and then stilled to allow the artist access to his canvas.

In frustration Greg turned away from them both and found himself facing the mirror. His mouth dropped open in surprise. His mirror image was wearing a wizards robe and smirking cruelly. Greg shuddered as his eyes in the mirror flashed with untold malice. His reflection winked at him before vanishing. Greg raised his hand to halt him and it was then that he noticed he was now wearing the robe and his hand was once more stained with blood.

CLANG

A blood drenched dagger fell from his right hand to the floor. Bile rose in his throat and he gagged on it as he turned to face her.

Hermione lay positioned on the table, her throat and wrists slit, a pool of blood surrounding. Her face had been carved too, hideously, to the bone, with the shape of the dark mark.

'I did this... This is what I do...' Greg thought numbly, starring at his bloody hands, the vision of Hermione's mutilated body seared into his mind's eye. He walked slowly from the room, in a stupor. ¯ _Into the stone the past is writ... _¯

"Oh yes, it's all about you, isn't it?" Professor Snape spoke as he slunk out of the shadows. Scrambling, Greg hid hands in the folds of his robe and refused to meet Snape's sneering gaze.

"Not so high and mighty now, are we? No courage, no cunning, no sign that you were ever worthy to walk the halls of Hogwarts," Snape deftly accused.

"I never asked for any of it!" Greg said through clenched teeth, the mention of Hogwarts rousing him as nothing else could, "that's why I left."

Snape rolled his eyes and grabbed Greg by the throat and shook him. "You left because you were frightened and angry. Like a child you wanted someone to blame, someone to punish. Open your eyes Gregori, you are not a child any longer."

Greg fought his way out of Snape's grip, "I'm not going back," he maintained emphatically, "I don't care what happens there, this is my life now."

Severus looked pointedly at the open door, through which he could Hermione's lifeless body. "Clearly completely unmoved," he mocked, "impartiality is you middle name." Snape sighed, "people will die whether you are here or there. It's only a matter of how and when."

"Well, that's comforting," Greg said sarcastically.

"You don't care remember." Snape threw Greg's word back at him, "you're not back. The problems of our world are no longer you concern. After all you've made your choice."

A patch of light flared to life in the darkness, growing in size and intensity, coalescing to form a door.

'What's through there?" Greg asked warily.

"The fruits of your labours." Snape said coldly, "you've certainly earned them."

Greg felt drawn to the door and moved in front of it without realizing. He felt rather than heard Snape leave him. Looking behind he could see Severus staring morosely at Hermione's lifeless corpse. Turning from the sight once more, he opened the door in front of him, recoiling at the light; he steeled himself against anymore surprises.

"It's not my fight; they don't deserve my help anyway." With that thought firmly entrenched in his mind, Greg stepped through the open doorway.

* * *

A.N#2: _It was a long time coming. I promise a return to the actually CSI lab very soon._

A.N#3: Quote: _If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended, that you have but slumbered here, while these visions did appear._

_A.N.#4: A list of the songs used in this chapter will follow in the next one, because it's rather short,_


	15. The Calm

A.N. #1: The song list

_I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places_: I'll Be Seeing You as sung by Billie Holliday

_As life hangs beside me, I gather all that I can_: Watch Out! as sung by Alexisonfire

_I closed my eyes and closed myself and closed my world_: Extreme Ways as sung by Moby

_Feel just like I'm sinking and I claw for solid ground_: Full Of Grace as sung by Sarah MacLachlan

_They ask me where the hell I'm going_: The Tourist as sung by Radiohead

_Defunct the strings of cemetery things_: Living Dead Girl as sung by Rob Zombie

_Into the stone the past is writ_: Grey Dawn Breaking as sung by Tiger Army

Now I'm not saying these are songs Greg would listen to, well not all of them anyway, but they do fit very well where they were inserted into the previous chapter.

A.N. #2: An Explanation For The Previous Chapter...

Basically it's a dream chapter brought on by Greg's rampant exhaustion, excessive energy expenditures, and the interference of the Goddess he summoned in the spell to heal Professor Snape. She gives Greg an opportunity to examine himself, his motivations and have a glimpse of the future, whether he appreciates it or not. In my defense, I originally came up with the idea while I had a fever, and borrowed heavily that episode of Buffy, (Restless). If it confused you, well, that's good, because it confuses Greg too, but it also serves a purpose.

(disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

Greg awoke screaming his throat raw with tears streaming down his face. He flinched away from the hands he felt touching him, attempting to restrain him. He was blindly fighting them off when the desperate pleas for attention finally registered.

"Greg! Please -"

Hermione was cut off with a screech as Greg pulled her to him, still completely heedless of their surroundings. Locking his arms around her tightly, Greg held Hermione close and rocked slightly back and forth, blatantly seeking comfort. He was trying to reassure himself that the ordeal, his nightmare vision was over; that what he had seen, what he had experienced hadn't been real. He stopped screaming and silence filled the room.

A full minute passed before Hermione could process a coherent thought.

'His heart... I can feel his heart beating.'

Hers was racing to match, probably for different reasons.

Hermione raised her arms to encircle him in return, trying to convince herself that she was merely offering comfort. Unconsciously they burrowed closer together. His breath against her neck fanned out her hair and sent a wave of tingles down her spine. Her eyes drifted shut. Hesitantly Hermione ran a hand up his back, caressing it lightly, stopping at the nape of his neck.

"Snape..." Greg murmured against her skin.

Hermione's eyes popped open, startled. 'Well, that's not the name I pictured him whispering.'

"Snape was here." Greg said frowning.

That halted Hermione's inner monologue with a jolt. She shook her head slightly, pulling back.

"Professor Snape's been moved to his quarter's, he still hasn't regained consciousness. Mme. Pomfrey thinks it'll only be a matter of time before he does," she assured him. "She couldn't believe her wand when she tested him and found no trace of the venom."

"Mmmm. No, he was here, talking and you were... Then there was screaming." Greg said insistently.

"I was what? Greg?" Hermione asked haltingly.

Greg turned his face to hers and opened his eyes, finally registering her proximity. Startled, Greg released Hermione immediately. In a deep blush, Hermione slid off the bed and put some distance between them.

"What happened?" Greg asked looking around the room bewildered.

"Funny," Hermione muttered, the blush finally retreating from her skin, "that's what I was going to ask you..."

Greg ignored Hermione as he pushed back the covers only to realize how much he wasn't wearing. Hermione stared at him wide-eyed. Flushing Greg jerked them back up, practically to his chin.

'Why does this always happen to me. I'm naked and the woman I... No, girl; very underage girl..."

"Hermione," Greg asked in a strained voice, "where are my clothes?"

Frustrated, though she was not sure why, Hermione replied, "Mme. Pomfrey thought you might be more comfortable this way."

Half-hearted, she gestured to the pile of clothes sitting on a chair near the bed and turned her back.

Once his privacy was somewhat assured, Greg leapt out of the bed and began pulling on his pants.

"Comfortable?" Greg said in askance, "when has my comfort ever... How long was I asleep?"

Hermione didn't respond, mostly because her mind was otherwise occupied. Greg whirled Hermione around to face him, his eyes boring into hers.

"How long?" He persisted.

Hermione marshaled her wayward thoughts and replied, striving for detachment, "over 24 hours... We were beginning to get worried."

Greg snorted derisively and resumed dressing.

Worry crept into Hermione's voice despite her efforts. "The Headmaster and I awoke through the night, but you didn't. We tried everything to wake you... You just wouldn't."

Greg sat back on the bed to put on his socks and shoes.

Hermione smiled slightly as she teased, "even asleep you are unbelievably stubborn."

Greg stilled his movements and asked with seeming nonchalance, "and you didn't dream?"

"No more than usual," Hermione answered puzzled by the question, "why? Did you?"

Greg sighed and threw her reply back at her, "no more than usual."

Hermione rolled her eyes at his flippancy and refused to drop the issue. "I know someone, he has dreams... Sees things he should never have to see, and he always wakes up screaming, the way you did. Greg, what did you see?"

"Drop it Gryffindor," Greg said coldly, grimacing as he pulled his robe on, "it was just a nightmare, nothing more."

"Fine," Hermione snapped, "absolutely nothing happened to you while you were sleeping. And even less happened when you woke up."

'Ah, witch, I'm going to miss that fire," Greg said, moving past her.

"You're leaving?" Hermione asked incredulously.

"I did my part," he said refusing to face her, "and I'd love to say it's been fun, but..."

"But what about Professor Snape?" Hermione asked, her voice rising in volume.

"You said it yourself, he's sleeping. I woke up, so will he," Greg said facetiously, moving towards to the door.

"I can't believe you!" Hermione shouted, "You want to get away from here so badly, then go! Do us both a favour, pretend you were never here!"

She reached into her pocket blindly, grabbing the first thing that came to hand, pulled it out and whipped it at Greg as she stormed past.

Greg caught it as it rebounded off his chest, before it hit the floor and missed Hermione slamming the door shut behind her. He pocketed the time-turner without a second thought, knowing he'd never be able to use it, but intrigued by it nonetheless.

Greg raised his hood and exited the room silently, letting the door drift shut behind him and began navigating his way through the halls. He steeled himself against images from his nightmare that flooded his brain every time he closed his eyes; Hermione's bloody corpse seemed to etch itself permanently into his subconscious.

'It was just a dream. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.'

Willing himself not to look back, Greg walked resolutely through the schools main doors, only to find Dumbledore lying in wait on the other side, the very picture of innocence.

"Ah, Gregori. It's good to see you up and about; you gave us all quite a scare," Dumbledore said affably.

"Right," Greg sneered with disbelief, striding down the path, eager to get to the school's gate and apparition point.

Professor Dumbledore followed, keeping pace and attempting pleasant conversation, "It's going to be a fine sunset..."

Greg rolled his eyes, "I hadn't noticed."

Dumbledore paused and placed his hand on Greg's shoulder, holding him in place.

"I have a request for you. It pains me to ask more of you but I must," he said quietly.

"I think I've had to do enough already," Greg said though clenched teeth, shaking Dumbledore's hand off. He resumed stalking away from Hogwarts.

"Yes, and it would be a shame to see all that hard work to go to waste..." Dumbledore said stiffly, somewhat ashamed with himself.

Greg stopped short, the gate in sight, "what do you mean?"

Dumbledore continued, "if Voldemort were to receive word that Severus is not where he is supposed to be... Or that he came here of all places to recover..."

Greg smirked, filling in the blanks, "his cover, such as it is, would be ruined, which would leave you without your favourite spy, what a pity. I don't see how it affects him.

The headmaster put forth coldly, "then you do not know Severus as well as you think you do."

Greg sighed, knowing full well that Severus would continue working against Voldemort, no matter the consequences to himself.

"What exactly do you want me to do now?" Greg asked, resigning himself to the fact that he couldn't leave, however much he wanted to.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled brilliantly, "have you ever considered teaching?"

* * *

A.N. #3: I just love those cliff-hangers. Please, Review.


	16. Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch

A.N. #1: The long awaited return to Las Vegas, I hope you enjoy your stay here, it will be of short duration.

A.N. #2: Thanks be to Rae & Andy for beta'ing. Dedicated to Trace, the time-keeper, because she had 16.

(disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

Nick Stokes was standing at his locker, pulling on his vest, when Warrick Brown strolled into the change room. 

"Hey Nick, where you been?" Warrick opened his locker and readied himself for work.

"I was at court all day yesterday, so Griss gave me the night off."

Warrick gave a wry smile, thinking '_there seems to be a lot of that going around_.'

He closed his locker and watched in bemusement as Nick pulled a baseball cap hard onto his head.

"Nice hair cut."

Nick blushed, rolling his eyes, "man, don't even start." Warrick couldn't help laughing as they made their way towards Grissom's office.

Sara Sidle's voice echoed down the hall. "Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

Unconsciously both Nick and Warrick sped up,

"Was it just me or did that sound like it was coming from..." Nick asked

"People don't just disappear," was Grissom's retort as Warrick and Nick quietly made their way into his office, both trying not to attract either Gil or Sara's attention.

"He didn't clock out," Sara exclaimed, "no one saw him leave or that girl he was with."

Nick whispered quietly to Warrick, "who are they talking about?"

"Sanders," Warrick whispered back through the side of his mouth.

"What's up with Greg?" Nick asked puzzled.

"He had yesterday off," Warrick replied.

Sara's argument with Grissom intruded on their whispered exchange.

"He's not scheduled to work today, Sara, there's no reason for him to come in," Gil declared, straining to maintain an air of calm.

"Two days in a row?" Sara asked in disbelief.

"Lucky bastard," Nick whispered.

Warrick echoed his sentiments silently. It had been a long time since either of them had had two consecutive nights away from work.

"Did he tell you where he was going? Did he tell anyone?" Sara asked. Exasperated, by Grissom's lack of response she turned to Warrick and Nick, opening the question to the floor.

Both Nick and Warrick stood at the door refusing to make eye contact, steadfastly pretending to ignore Grissom, Sara, and each other.

Sara huffed angrily, wanting desperately to smack them both. Resolutely, she turned back to Grissom, who was trying to hide the humour he felt at his team's antics.

Catherine Willows entered Grissom's office, pushing her way past Warrick and Nick, stopping suddenly as she felt the tension in the room.

"That's not like Greg. There's something off about this whole situation. I can't believe you guys don't see it," Sara said, attempting to sound calm and failing miserably.

"What's going on?" Catherine queried the two men behind her.

Warrick smiled and said, "Sara thinks we've misplaced our lab tech."

Catherine rolled here eyes, having already listened to Sara's arguments all of yesterday, addressed her, "I think you're overreacting."

"Fine," Sara fumed, grabbing a folder off of Grissom's desk, she glared at everyone as she stormed out.

"Sara, wait-" Nick called out good-naturedly, only to be ignored.

"What's up with Sara?" Brass asked as he walked into Grissom's office, "she nearly took me down in the hallway."

Grissom replied coolly, "nothing,"

"Huh," said Captain Brass, having learned when not to press the issue, settled for changing the subject, "this ought to take your mind off it. There's been another one." He passed a folder into Gil's outstretched hand.

Grissom quirked his eyebrow, waiting for the details before opening the folder.

Brass was less than forth coming, "photos of the last crime scene".

Catherine stalked over to the desk, "she's not going to let this drop."

Gil sighed, "it's just a difference of opinion."

Warrick smirked at the understatement, "yeah, she thinks Greg's missing and you think-"

"Sanders?" Brass clarified, "seemed pretty visible to me. Unless I've been misunderstanding the meaning of the word missing all these years."

Nick asked "Greg's here? Someone should tell Sara..."

"Someone should warn Greg," Warrick disagreed

Both Nick and Warrick spoke simultaneously, "nah," grinning in anticipation of fireworks between Sara and Greg.

Gil pursed his lips in disapproval, and opened the folder: blanching slightly after looking over the pictures.

His voice betrayed his reaction to their contents, "Jim, why haven't I seen this before?"

Brass sighed, and he rubbed his face wearily and lowered his gaze to the floor.

"Last month, day shift caught it," Jim spoke quietly. He raised his head, and caught Gil's gaze with his own, "they didn't get very far."

Grissom's mouth tightened into a grimace, "Cath, Warrick, you two take the scene. Nick, I want you to go over the last case with a fine tooth comb, just in case they missed something."

Catherine nodded in agreement and got the address, before moving over to Warrick, pulling his attention away from Nick.

"I'll meet you there," Catherine mouthed at him in an undertone, "I've got a stop to make."

Warrick caught himself watching Catherine's silent exit, and shook himself free from his reverie, hoping no one had noticed his momentary lapse.

"What are you going to do?" Nick queried their supervisor.

Grissom's lips twisted themselves into the parody of a smile, "I'm sure I'll find something..." and gestured towards the doorway now filled with a worn looking Greg.

Nick let out a chuckle at the sight of Greg, "where have you been?"

Warrick postponed Greg's answer with a statement of his own, "Sara's going nuts looking for you."

'_At least she noticed I was gone_. _That's progress, sort of._' Greg thought ruefully, "Damn, what did she want?" he said out loud.

Warrick replied jokingly, "man, I don't even think she knows."

Nick interrupted with a smirk, "she, uh, mentioned your date..."

"Date?" Sanders gulped uncomfortably. He cast his eyes around, searching for a means of escape and could see Grissom and Brass discussing something over Grissom's desk, both pointedly ignoring his interrogation at the hands of the CSIs.

Warrick ribbed, "girl must be pretty special, getting up that early for your sorry ass."

"Special," Greg murmured, recalling the feel of Hermione's body pressed against his upon waking from his nightmare. He blushed and continued, "that's one way to put it."

"You dirty dog!" Nick exclaimed, attracting the attention of both Brass and Grissom.

Momentarily taking pity on Sanders, Grissom, queried, "don't you guys have somewhere to be?"

Warrick and Nick laughed openly at Greg's expression as they left the office. Captain Brass followed after begging a ride up to the scene with Warrick.

Grissom began pulling up files on his computer, before breaking the silence, "why are you here Greg?"

After spending the last thirty six hours mired in half-truths, Greg found himself unprepared for the direct approach.

"Ah, a question for the ages..." Greg replied somewhat flippantly.

Grissom quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head to the right, something Greg usually interpreted as an expression of exasperation, "I was referring to the fact that you're not scheduled to work today. I'm afraid I don't have time for a philosophical discussion."

Anxious to avoid the task at hand, Greg foisted the impetus of the discussion back onto Grissom, "what's up?"

Gil gestured to the folders on his desk before returning his attention to his computer. Greg picked up the folder in question and began flipping through it absently only to pale upon reaching the crime scene photos.

"That's... That's a lot of blood," Greg murmured quietly. He turned to the next picture and froze; his mind immediately catapulted to another time and place.

'_oh god, oh god, oh god..._'.

In the center of the picture is a boy. 'T_he victim._' Arranged on a table with his wrists slashed and throat slit. '_Hermione..._' All that was missing was the dark mark.

Filled with a sense of foreboding, Greg eased the folder shut and mechanically replaced it on Grissom's desk.

"Is that a new case?" Sanders asked, trying to keep his reactions from showing.

Grissom blinked drawing his attention away from his computer to rest briefly on the folder in question. "No," he replied abruptly, "that's an open one from last month. Possibly linked to one tonight, Catherine and Warrick are investigating."

Greg swallowed painfully, "the new one... the victim... Was it a woman?"

"I don't know Greg," Gil replied, irked by the repeated interruptions, "I haven't been to the scene." Grissom looked up then, taking in Greg's countenance, and remembered his own reaction to the images. "You shouldn't be looking at those."

Greg mumbled, moodily, "yeah, got to be careful, might have a bad reaction..."

Mildly exasperated, Grissom strove for a conciliatory tone, "not everyone is cut out to be on the front lines."

"But this one is important," Greg stated, staring obsessively at the folder.

Slightly puzzled by his lab tech's behaviour, Gil observed, "they're all important, Greg. It's not like you to get involved in a case like this. Not to mention the fact that you're here..."

Greg shoved his hands into his pockets, to stop himself from reaching for the folder again, and immediately came in to contact with the time turner. '_Damned old meddling -_'

"I came to ask a favour," Greg said with a ghost of a smile, "I need tomorrow off."

"You just had two days..." Grissom put forth incredulously.

"And I need another one," Greg finished the statement easily, a plan forming in his mind, "I'll take a personal day if needs be."

"Personal?" Gil quirked an eyebrow at the concept.

"Despite what you might think, I do have a life outside of this place," Greg replied, affronted.

"I never suggested otherwise," Grissom backpedaled slightly, "in fact I am well aware that your interests are myriad. You've just never let them affect your work before."

"Grissom," Greg said brusquely, "I'm taking a personal day."

"I can't stop you." Grissom said startled by the sudden change in Greg's demeanor.

"No, you can't," Greg smiled attempting to reassure his boss, and gave a mock salute as he exited Grissom's office, '_though I wish you would_.'

In his haste to depart Greg unconsciously followed the same path he had taken in his dream. He stopped abruptly at the spot where he had encountered Sara. He could see her lying on the floor, bleeding; shifting into his mother and then back again; calling to him for help.

"Greg?" Catherine stood next to him looking mildly worried, "I've been calling to you for five minutes. You looked miles away..."

'_You have no idea,_' he thought as he tried to pull himself together, "Nah, just seems that way. Walk you out?"

"Sure," Catherine said gamely, though her expression betrayed some of her puzzlement.

Unsure how to approach this taciturn version of a guy she thought she knew, Catherine let the silence build, as they negotiated their way through the building, until it was unbearable; for her at least.

"So, what have you been up to?" Catherine asked hesitantly.

"Not much," Greg replied, his tiredness growing more evident, "I had plans but they kind of fell through."

They stepped out into the surprisingly cool night air and as Greg continued escorting her to her car, Catherine could hear him muttering, "just my past coming back to bite me on the ass."

"Greg?" asked Catherine, thoroughly puzzled by his sudden attitude.

'_Did I say that out loud? I don't have time for this_.' "Just family stuff, you know how it goes," Greg covered his slip, badly, as they reached Catherine's car, "listen, I've got to head out."

"Uh huh, be seeing you," Catherine said her goodbye but Greg was already moving away at a steady clip. She didn't think he'd even heard her.

Catherine got into her car and sat for a few minutes staring at the wheel. With a shake of her head, she reached into her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Dialing a number, she craned her head to look at the direction Sanders had taken.

The ringing could be heard faintly through the glass window. Once, twice, three times. Catherine's half of the conversation could also be heard.

"Hey, it's me."

"No, you were right, I'm sorry."

"Something is definitely up with Greg."

* * *

A.N. #3: Please, Review. 


	17. First Impressions

(disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

Hermione entered the Great Hall, well after breakfast had commenced, still angry at Greg for his dismissal and, if she were completely honest, at herself for so easily losing her temper. 

'_He really brings it out in me_,' she mused.

Hermione greeted her friends, "morning all."

"_Morning_, she says," Ron muttered under his breath.

"And what have you been up to _all_ weekend?" Ginny asked teasingly thinking, 'this should be fun.' She glanced at Harry hoping to enlist his aid.

Scenes and snippets flashed through Hermione's mind in response to Ginny's question starting with her arrival in Las Vegas and ending with Greg's not-so-dressed embrace.

Blushing, she replied, "Oh, nothing much. I spent most of it...erm...in the library, actually."

"Ha," Ron grumbled, "pull the other one."

Seeing Mione's expression Ginny exclaimed, "Yeah, try that with someone who wasn't forced to spend their weekend scouring the castle for you."

'_He's drifting again_.' Ginevra thought, '_I've had enough of this_.' And she gave Harry's leg a sharp pinch.

Harry made an effort to pull himself away from the thoughts which had been plaguing him all weekend and set about helping Ginny tease their two friends.

Hermione froze, pumpkin juice suspended between her mouth and the table, "What are you talking about?"

Ginny explained, "these two -"

"Mostly Ron," Harry interrupted, grinning at his best friend.

"Mostly Ron," Ginny conceded with a smile, "were all for storming Dumbledore's office, demanding the location of your whereabouts." She continued her tone swelling dramatically, "They even braved the girl's toilet on the second floor..."

Both boys shuddered at this, each recollecting their harrowing encounter with Moaning Myrtle.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into that," Harry whimpered slightly, "especially after what she did in fourth year. It was weeks before I felt secure enough to go to the loo by myself."

"We know," Ginevra said rolling her eyes.

"Oh, shut it. Both of you," Ron spoke with exasperation, "I was worried. That's all. And, yeah, all right, I might've overreacted a little but -"

"A little?" Harry and Ginny chorused in unison.

"But," Ron addressed Hermione, ignoring them, "first with Malfoy, and then we couldn't find you on the map..."

Ron trailed off, gulping at the stormy expression now gracing Mione's face. Immediately he focused all his attention on the plate in front of him, "oh look, food."

"You were spying on me?" Hermione asked through clenched teeth.

"No!" Harry said vehemently shaking his head. Ronald continued to stuff his face, figuring, quite rightly, that he could get into less trouble that way.

"Were you doing anything worth being spied on?" Ginny asked slyly.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione insisted, her face flushing red once more.

Harry and Ginny shared a glance, before simultaneously replying, "uh huh."

"I don't know Harry," Gin mocked gently, "consorting with Slytherins, secret missions for Dumbledore..." The youngest Weasley mimed wiping a tear from her eye. "I think our little Hermione's all grown up."

Strained silence and dark looks met her jest.

Hermione hissed quietly at Ron and Harry, "I can't believe you told her."

"I'm not an idiot you know," Ginny huffed indignantly, "I could've figured it out for myself."

"No, Ginny," Mione sighed, "that's not what I meant. I -"

Dumbledore's voice sounded around the room through the aid of the sonorous spell. "I have an announcement to make."

Silence fell over the Great Hall.

"As many of you have no doubt noticed his absence, I must inform you all that Professor Snape has been called away on urgent family business."

A buzz of voices arose at that tidbit, primarily because most of the students present were shocked to think of the detested Potions professor as having a mother and father, or even, Merlin forefend a wife and child.

"I regret to say that I do not when he will return," the Headmaster's voice rang out once more, drowning out all the other conversations with ease. "However, we at Hogwarts hope that his separation from us will be of short duration. Bearing all that in mind, I extend most heartfelt gratitude to Professor Sinistra for her acceptance of the temporary appointment of Slytherin House Mistress."

"And to Mme. Pomfrey and Professor Sprout," Professor Dumbledore continued, "for taking on the added responsibility of teaching potions lessons to our younger students,"

At this a round of applause burst forth from three of the four houses at Hogwarts, mostly in celebration of potions classes without Professor Snape.

"Yes, congratulations, indeed," Dumbledore went on, "and for those of you in the upper years, rest assured a most suitable candidate has been enlisted to help prepare you for your O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S."

Professor McGonagall, looked up, startled, rose from her seat and all but rushed over to where Albus was standing. Sensing the upcoming interruption Headmaster Dumbledore quickly ended the sonorous spell, signaling to all listening that he had nothing more to impart. Most took it upon themselves to resume breaking their fast, Hermione was one of the few who did not.

Filled with a sense of foreboding, Mione watched Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore's argument from a distance.

'_Oh God_,' Hermione thought, paling dramatically.

"He wouldn't," She exclaimed, attracting the attention of her peers.

"Mione, what is it?" Harry asked quietly, trying not to attract more interest.

"He couldn't," she replied, shaking her head in confusion. She stood abruptly, breakfast forgotten and quit the Great Hall with surprising speed.

Ron, Ginny and Harry exchanged startled glances, immediately scrambling to gather their books, and headed off after her; Ron gulping down his pumpkin juice as he ran.

The trio of runners eventually caught up with Hermione just outside the potions classroom.

"He did," she whispered.

"Who – Who did what?" Ron gasped, leaning heavily on Harry's shoulder, trying to catch his breath. "Oh, I don't feel well," Ron moaned, clutching at his stomach.

"Hermione, what's the matter?" Ginny asked rolling her eyes at her brother's theatrics.

"_Petrificus_. _Silencio_." An oddly accented voice called out from the classroom, stunning and silencing them all.

"If you think that lurking outside my door is going to get you into my good graces..." The speaker whirled around, stalking menacingly towards the doorway where they all stood, still as statues. "Nothing could further from the truth," Greg continued sneering, "it merely demonstrates your inability to perform the simple task of marking the passage of time."

"Shall I make it plainer?" Greg asked sarcastically as large glowing numbers reading 9:00 AM appeared in the air.

"Anxious as I am for your company," his tone letting them know he was anything but, "class begins precisely at nine am and not a moment before!" His voice rose to a shout and the door slammed shut between them, releasing them from the spells which held them in place.

Hermione turned away from the door, her face awash with conflicting emotions.

Oblivious Ron began bad mouthing the professor, "can you believe that berk?"

Sighing, Ginny replied, "just what this place needed, another professor out to get us."

Harry shook his head, incredulous, "it's like it's required, all potions professors must be complete and total bastards."

Other students slowly meandered down the hall lining up against the wall.

Ginny smiled, "makes me glad I don't have to take this class until tomorrow."

"Oh, ta very much, Gin," her brother groused.

The door creaked open and both the Slytherin and Gryfindor students began filing in.

Ginny took that opportunity to leave, not wanting to be late for her own classes, abandoning the trio to their fate.

Harry, Ron and Hermione were the last students to enter. Hermione went first, eyes downcast, trying not to attract any attention.

Ron paused at the threshold, remarking to Harry under his breath, "have I mentioned lately how very glad I am you talked me into staying with this class. I mean really, brilliant idea, one of your best."

Harry rolled his eyes and shoved his friend forward, his voice holding no sympathy, "come on Ron, stalling is only going to make it worse."

The door slammed shut behind them. Class had begun.

* * *


	18. Lesson The First

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

A.N.: I just wanted to say I haven't abandoned this story. Thanks to SilverLight05, JediClaire, Adelian, and Sophy for reviewing. I appreciate your patience, and hope you guys like what I've done with it.

* * *

He stood hunched over his desk, silently berating himself. He knew that, deep down, at least some part of him should feel bad... but he didn't.

_flashback_

Gregori stood at the door, waiting for class to begin. Ignoring the blood he felt rolling down his face and dripping on to his school emblem, he moved forward with his classmates as the door opened. Gregori was so intent on ignoring them all that he was sent stumbling into the Professor with the sudden poke of a fire hot wand at his back, bearing them both to the ground.

"Must you be _so_ clumsy!"

The Professor's loud chastisement echoed in Greg's ears along with the jeers of his year mates.

_end flashback_

"Silence!" Greg shouted, whirling around to face his students, sending them jumping and scurrying to their seats. "You will address me as Professor Zhand," he intoned, managing to make it sound like a threat.

"Wands out!" he yelled.

The students complied slowly, confusion evident on their faces. As one the wands were wrenched from their grasps, prompting many exhalations of disbelief. They floated forward, seemingly under their own power, and deposited themselves into a chest which sat prominently on the professor's desk. Professor Zhand snapped the lid shut, locking its precious cargo inside.

"I can only hope holding your wands hostage will act as a deterrent against the numerous accidents that seem to plague this class," Greg said. The way he stressed the word 'accidents' made it clear to all listening he thought they were anything but. He strode forward, looking over the students, sneering; his dislike of them evident.

"I suppose I should question where you stand, what your master has taught you." Greg stated, rolling his eyes at the gasps of those who fathomed a deeper meaning to his words, "But I can't bring myself to care. You shall be measured against my standard." He turned back around, moving to the front of the class and speaking over his shoulder, "And pray you measure up."

"You," Professor Zhand singled out Dean Thomas, "What was the last potion you made?"

"Er... Calming Draught, sir," Dean answered.

"Rather easy fare for a sixth year," Greg commented snidely, "Who invented it? Anyone?"

No one seemed to know the answer or, more precisely, no one was willing to raise their hand and draw the Potions Professor's attention and potential wrath.

"Right then, a brief history lesson," Zhand announced, lifting an old book from his desk. He murmured over it quietly before opening it somewhere in the middle.

"In 1441, the first moderately successful calming draught was produced in Tunisia by a wizard who went under the name Gruinhel. This wizard then spent the remaining forty years of his life trying to perfect his invention. Unfortunately he died before he could complete it. Some twenty years later a witch, Pursa I believe she was called, stumbled onto his research. After modifying it slightly, she released it as her own, claiming to be the sole creator. Her version, which for interest's sake is less effective than the original, is the one commonly produced today."

Greg snapped the book shut. "I can safely say you have all sampled that particular potion at one time or another, and yet you didn't know the first thing about it. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

"Professor Zhand?" Hermione asked hesitantly, trying not to shrink under his gaze. The quirk of his eyebrow gave her tacit permission to continue. "You said Gruinhel's version was more effective than the one in current use. Well... that doesn't make any sense. Why use a potion that's less effective?"

He grinned maliciously before answering her, "Gruinhel's formula had the unfortunate side effect of rendering the drinker permanently insensate, ultimately resulting in their death. I'm sure they went peacefully."

"That's barbaric," Granger said, aghast.

Greg countered, shaking his head, "No, it's..." He surveyed the students, most of whom had grown disinterested in the discussion.

"You, all of you," he addressed the class, "Give no thought whatsoever to the hard work, the pain, and the sacrifices that went into the gifts you take for granted. That's going to change," he finished ominously.

The door to the classroom opened and a house elf entered, leading several goats.

"Sirs, Professor Sirs. Chibi is here, as Sirs commanded," Chibi said, bowing low before disappearing with a pop.

"Separate yourselves into groups," Zhand ordered, "No less than three, no more than five." His temper frayed as he watched their progress.

"None of that," he snapped, "Your petty house rivalries don't matter to me." He moved around the room, pulling students from their chosen groups and placing them in others, ensuring a mix of Slytherin and Gryffindor. Greg then distributed the goats, one per group, along with a very sharp dagger.

Ron Weasley looked at the dagger in askance and plucked up his courage, "Um, Professor Zhand? What exactly do you want us to do?"

Greg looked pointedly at a dagger, and then at a goat, "I should think that would be obvious. You," he gestured towards Draco Malfoy, "What is commonly found in the stomach of a goat?"

Draco replied, unhappy at being stationed with Harry & Parvati, "Bezoars, Professor Zhand."

"Exactly," Zhand drawled, "So, begin." He waved his hand imperiously.

"No," Hermione announced firmly.

"No? And why not, Miss Granger?" Greg asked, his voiced laced with amusement. The rest of the class seemed to be holding its breath, unwilling to participate in the explosion that was sure to come.

"It's cruel and unnecessary, I won't do it," Hermione said, standing her ground.

"Then you'll fail," the Professor stated coolly.

"Then I'll fail," Granger quietly agreed.

The other students, especially the Gryffindors, shifted uneasily at this, all remembering the last time Hermione had confronted a teacher and how badly that had turned out.

"I wonder how you have proceeded this far in your magical education if those are your ethics. After all," Greg added with a smirk, "I'm pretty sure the rats don't enjoy their time as water goblets."

Granger shook her head in disagreement, "That's -"

"Torture?" Greg interrupted, "Hmmm. If my lesson plan doesn't inspire, maybe I should give you a better incentive."

Professor Zhand pulled a flask from a free standing cupboard and poured the contents into an empty goblet.

"You and you," Professor Zhand spoke, singling out Ron and Blaise Zabini, pulling them both to the front of the class.

Greg first offered the cup to Ron. "Drink," he commanded.

"But it could be anything..." Ron protested.

"Brilliant observation, Mr. Weasley," Greg leaned in close, almost whispering in Ron's ear. "With intellect like that, it's hardly surprising you were sorted into Ravenclaw." The professor's voice dripped with sarcasm, "Oh, wait. You were sorted into Gryffindor, the house famed for its bravery... and you won't take a sip from a simple potion." Zhand pulled away, sighing at Ron's apparent lack of courage. "Ah well, perhaps Mr. Zabini will prove more daring."

Predictably Ron took umbrage at this, nearly yanking the goblet out of the Professor's hand and gulping down a healthy mouthful.

With disdain, Greg took back the goblet and strode over to Blaise, moving into his personal space.

Professor Zhand lectured quietly, "Before taking this position, I had the opportunity to examine the student records. And though I shall not be here long, I assure that any decision made will stand after I am gone. As a student who can ill afford to be removed from this class, I counsel you to drink."

Blaise did so, though his contempt was plain for all to see. By this time Ron was leaning on the Professor's desk, unable to support himself.

"Return to you seats," Zhand ordered. Blaise made it easily under his own power, Ron however seemed to be growing weaker with each passing second and had to be helped by a fellow Gryffindor.

Greg spoke again, pulling no punches, "Two of your classmates have been poisoned. It is up to you to cure them. It is a slow acting poison, so Mr. Weasley and Mr. Zabini should have plenty of time."

Zhand looked at Ron who sat slumped over, barely conscious. "Well... at least till the end of the period. Come now, those bezoars aren't going to find themselves," he observed callously. Greg then took his seat the better to watch the action unfold... and to make sure no one accidentally slit their wrists or worse, someone else's.

* * *

"Surprising really," Professor Zhand heckled from behind his desk, "How little they want to cooperate with you. It's almost like they know."

Greg observed the barely controlled chaos, "Of course, you could all just be incredibly inept."

Seamus Finnigan chose that moment to arm himself and chase a particularly recalcitrant goat around the classroom, cursing fiercely about troublesome cornish pixies.

'That one's been whacked in the head one to many times,' he thought ruefully.

* * *

'That was rather anticlimactic,' Greg thought. 'Bit of blood, few tears... but I expected that. Alright more than a bit of blood...'

Most of the students looked as though they'd been bathing in it, making it difficult to discern who was who, let alone which house they belonged to.

In the end only one bezoar had been found, which meant the students were now faced with another moral dilemma. They were arguing, and Greg was about to interfere when Malfoy executed his own solution. Draco grabbed the stone and chucked it at Millicent Bulstrode, elbowing Parvati Patil's nose in the process. That maneuver succeeded in further distracting the Gryffindors, giving Bulstrode the chance to shove the bezoar down Zabini's throat.

Greg's voice cut through all the noise like a knife, "Detention, Mr. Malfoy, tonight, nine o'clock."

"Because I chose to save my friend?" Draco protested.

"Hardly," Professor Zhand answered, rolling his eyes. "Rather because you broke Miss Patil's nose."

Draco scowled at the explanation but seemed unwilling to press the matter.

"Someone take her to see Madame Pomfrey before she passes out," Greg ordered indifferently.

Seamus volunteered and was halfway to the door when Harry Potter interrupted, "What about Ron?"

"Who?" Professor Zhand asked with feigned ignorance.

"Ron!" Harry said losing his temper, "Ronald Weasley, the other student you poisoned."

Greg looked over at Weasley who was clearly suffering from a fever of some sort and answered negligently, "Oh... What about him?"

"He's dying!" Potter shouted, "And it's your fault!"

The surrounding students began inching away from Harry. After all Potter had supposedly faced off with You-Know-Who, and come away whole; besides his temper had been rather short of late.

"Nonsense, Mr. Potter," Zhand drawled, "People do not die from little trifling colds."

Harry snapped and reached for his wand. Unfortunately for Harry, his wand was not currently on his person and his hand came up empty. However, Professor Zhand had also noticed the gesture and took it in the spirit it was intended.

"Detention, Mr. Potter, tonight, nine o'clock," Greg chastised, "for attempting to hex your professor. Now get out of my sight, and take that with you."

'That' of course referred to poor Mr. Weasley.

Everyone began to gather up their things, watching out of the corners of their eyes as Harry hefted his friend and dragged him out the door, struggling to keep his balance. Hermione, loaded down with everyone's effects, raced after; following all four Gryffindors up to the hospital wing.

Realizing that they were all going to be late for their next classes and that the strange new Potions Professor had neglected to assign homework, the remaining students bundled together their belongings with remarkable efficiency; staying quiet even when they discovered their wands had been returned to them.

Greg called out, dashing their hopes, "Miss Granger raised an excellent point earlier, one I think you should explore... The ethics of magic in potion making, at least fifteen inches worth should suffice; due for next class. And I'm sure someone will remember to inform your missing classmates. Dismissed."

* * *


	19. Much Ado About Nothing

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended. This has not been beta'd.)

* * *

"Professor McGonagall is quite cross, you know." Professor Dumbledore called out from the doorway. "Apparently almost a third of her 6th year Gryffindors showed up to classed covered in blood. And two more in the hospital wing... I'm told the whole class was in an uproar. She reacted quite strongly."

"I can imagine," Greg said snidely from inside Snape's office, "Oh wait, I don't have to."

****flashback****

" –two, three, four. And stop stirring." Professor Slughorn advised from the back of the class, over the muted chatter of the students. He flipped open his pocket watch and marked the time. "It must sit for five minutes and then?" A few students raised their hands. "Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

Weasley held up a silver dirk, "We cut ourselves and put the blood in."

"Correct, 2 points to Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley," Slughorn awarded jovially, "but not too much blood, no more than three drops or the potion will fail." He moved his ample form forward inspecting the bubbling cauldrons as he went. "Excellent, class, the minister will be so pleased. _Cruorisuci;_ fresh no less, just the thing to host a Kiss. And after they've negotiated a new covenant-" A sharp tugged at his cloak distracted him, "Yes, what is it, Cuffe?"

" 'S been five minutes sir." The Slytherin student lisped.

"Oh, quite. Yes, blood in everyone." Professor Slughorn ordered, bustling up to his desk where his own brew sat waiting.

Gregori gripped the knife tightly in one hand, pressing the edge against the palm of his other, holding both over a steaming cauldron. At exactly the wrong moment an elbow slammed into his side and the knife sliced his hand open, blood gushing into the potion below. Immediately he pulled his hand back to his chest, squeezing it shut.

"Careless," Professor Slughorn tutted, "and you haven't time to begin again, no, I'm afraid it will have to be zero for this session, and five points from-"

Splash! Gregori could just make out something floating to the bottom of his ruined potion, before it began to bubble and fizz.

"Back everyone, all finished potions to safety." Professor Slughorn rushed away leaving Gregori trapped in the back corner of the classroom.

Boom! It exploded outward raining blood and metal, drenching Gregori and everything around him.

"Oh, my stars," Professor Slughorn murmured looking at the pitiful second year. A few of the other students giggled uncomfortably. "Never mind, never mind, we'll soon put you to rights. _Evanesco!_"

Gregori felt the cleaning spell hit him and, rather than disappear, the blood began to glow and then burn.

Professor Slughorn looked at his wand, puzzled at its lack of efficacy, shrugged his generous shoulders and pointed it towards the boy again for a second attempt when the child let out a bloodcurdling scream.

"Mr. Weasley!" Professor Slughorn had to shout to be heard over Gregori's agonizing cries. "Fetch the Headmaster, and Pomfrey and ... Anyone! Bring anyone you can-"

****end flashback****

"If I had been after revenge," Greg snapped, "they'd have been bathed in their own blood, not a goat's."

"Was that really necessary?" Dumbledore entered the office uninvited, and walked across the room.

"Which part disturbs you more?" Greg asked, keeping his attention fixed on the work at his desk, "the needless slaughter of animals or the mental torture of those you call innocent?"

"They are innocent Gregori." Professor Dumbledore sighed, calling up a comfy chair with a wave of his wand.

"As I was?" Greg snarled, throwing his quill down, "but surely the sins of the father are visited on the child?"

"It was a difficult time..." said Professor Dumbledore as he gathered his multihued robes around him and began to sit in the chair he had conjured when it vanished beneath him.

"Don't bother sitting down, you're not staying." Greg declared coldly, his hands braced against the edge of the desk. Unnoticed the quill stood up and began scratching once more onto parchment.

"Ah, quite right," Professor Dumbledore stood up stiffly, trying to summon back his earlier calm, "It's nearly time for our evening meal. And, as I understand it, the house elves have prepared quite a treat. Will you be joining us?"

"No," Greg said smirking, "I've never been all that partial to goat stew."

* * *

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron groaned, as let another spoonful of stew splash messily back into the bowl.

"You're not the only one," replied Neville, shifting his dinner plate further away from Ron.

The atmosphere in the Great Hall was gloom filled, thick grey clouds rolled across the ceiling threatening rain. The mood of the sixth years, who had endured Professor Zhand potions lesson that morning were equally dampened; spreading through all the others years like an infection.

"I can't believe you tried to hex the Professor, Harry," Hermione nagged.

"Really, I can," Ron said giving up on the lumpy stew. He pushed it to the side, and began nibbling on a dry piece of bread, in the hopes that it would settle his queasy stomach. "It's not as though he hasn't done it before." He listed them all, counting on his fingers, "Quirrel, Lockhart, Snape, Remus, Mad-eye."

Harry grimaced, raising his head slightly, "not sure Mad-eye counts, seeing as it wasn't really him at the time, or Remus for that matter." He returned his focus to aimlessly toying with his food.

"Still," Neville said scraping the last of his stew from the bowl, "it's almost expected now." He slurped loudly, then grinned at Ron's horrified expression.

Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics, "alright, in class then, in front of everyone. Honestly, Harry what were you thinking?"

"He was thinking about protecting me from that git, right Harry?" Ron interrupted, mouthing the words, _Leave Off_, at Hermione, "besides it's not like he's a real professor anyway, 's just temporary till Snape gets be- er back."

Hermione elbowed him at his near slip.

"What, I said back?" Ron groused, "did I just wish Snape was here?" He faked a swoon and leaned heavily on Hermione, "someone fetch Madame Pomfrey, I think my fever's come back."

Ginny slipped into the space between Harry and Neville, "I'm more worried that Ron's gone off his dinner. I don't think that's ever happened before in the history of the Weasley family, truly the first sign that the end of the world is nigh," she proclaimed dramatically, before bursting out with laughter. Everyone joined in, even Harry.

"Ah, leave off Gin," Ron grumbled, blushing slightly.

"Apocalypse or not," Harry sighed, shouldering his bag, he stood up from the table, "I've got detention to go to." Harry ruffled Ginny's hair jumping away when she tried to retaliate, "the end of the world will just have to wait."

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione whispered, her disappointment palpable.

"I know, I know," Harry replied, "I've no one to blame but myself."

* * *

A.N.: Well, it has been a very long time and for that, I do apologize and thank you all for your patience. Unfortunately, since it has been so very long, my beta has departed for greener pastures, anyone interested?


	20. Detention part 1

(Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, CSI, nor anything else contained within these pages, no infringement is intended.)

* * *

Draco was waiting, slouched against the wall by the entrance to the potions classroom. "Glad you could join us Potty," Draco complained as he straightened up. He tidied up his robes and crossed his arms, icily glaring at Potter.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Malferret. Am I keeping you from torturing the first years? How _thoughtless _of me," Harry said in mock contrition.

Draco, bristling at the insult, brandished his wand and Harry responded in kind, each preparing to hex the other into submission. The door to the potions classroom opened unnoticed by either boy as they circled round each other.

"Seriously, how do you two make it through the day without losing limbs?" Professor Zhand asked from within the classroom.

Both boys jumped apart, shamefacedly hiding their wands behind their backs.

"Professor, I-" Harry began, moving into the room

"Save it, Potter, I don't actually care. You and Malfoy can murder each other on your own time,' Greg sighed as Malfoy followed Potter in. "I had planned on making you two clean up the mess you all made today. Unfortunately, as you can plainly see, the elves chose today to become proactive in their sanitary efforts."

From floor to ceiling, the class was sparkling, far cleaner than Harry or Draco could ever recall it being. Harry remembered how utterly filthy it had been after their last class and marvelled at the magical feats the house elves had performed in such a short amount of time.

"Thankfully, I ran into Filch, and he volunteered several suggestions, saved me from having to get creative," The potions professor said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face at the boys' obvious distaste for anything Filch might have dreamed up. He then loaded both boys down with ingredients and cauldrons, and herded them out of the room.

The torches were few and far between as Greg led Harry and Draco deeper into the dungeons of Hogwarts. Twisting and turning, corridor after corridor, Potter lost all sense of direction as he followed behind the professor and Malfoy. Harry pulled his robe tighter around himself, breathing in the cold, damp air and tried to take comfort in the fact that if he was uncomfortable, Malfoy must be miserable.

"Keep up, Potter," Professor Zhand said, suddenly beside him, "wouldn't want you to wander off or get left behind. Might never find you again."

"_Lumos._" Potter lit his wand as they went down a darkened, uneven staircase, the steps shallow and worn with age, and found Malfoy waiting at the bottom, clutching his wand and looking as wretched as Harry had expected. A massive stone door behind Draco opened with groan. Greg went right through and the boys followed with far less enthusiasm. The door groaned shut behind them, sealing them in.

"Everything on the table. Malfoy, get those torches lit," Greg directed.

Armed with only his wand light to penetrate the oppressive darkness, Harry could barely see the table Zhand was talking about, let alone the torches presumably attached to the surrounding walls. '_I don't envy Malfoy trying to find torches to light in this... be funny if he walked into a wall though.' _Harry could hear the professor moving about the room easily. _'No idea how he's doing it, he doesn't have his wand lit or anything.'_ Draco had obviously found the first torch without injury because it flared to life suddenly, though it didn't do much to illuminate the room. He could, however, make out more of the stone table he was resting against. The table came up higher than his waist and was quite thick too. It was supported by a central pillar, '_made of... granite, maybe? Are those blood stains on the surface?'_ Harry gulped anxiously, _'just old potions... I hope.'_

Harry waited while Draco lit a few more and looked around the parts of the room he could now see. The walls were older than Harry was used to, and cobbled like the floor with stones jutting out sharply, at random. The air was drier too, despite how far down they must have travelled, and stale, as though this room hadn't been opened in a very long time. _'Doesn't feel right... not like Hogwarts.' _Only now did Harry wonder why the professor had brought them all this way to serve their detention. '_There must have been other, closer, safer rooms. If he tries anything- I've got my wand, I'll be ready.'_

Keeping a weather eye on the potions professor, Harry began to unpack the box of ingredients closest to him. "Sir, where do you want this?" he asked holding up a crystal decanter, filled with a thick, pale blue liquid.

Greg's eyes widened, "Safely away from you" he murmured and delicately removed from Potter's hands, before unpacking the rest of the ingredients and items, turning the room into an temporary potions lab.

Halfway around the room, Draco called out, "Is that Dragon's milk, Professor? I've never seen so large an amount."

"Is it rare?" Harry asked, interested despite the circumstances, because he had never heard of it before, "is it dangerous?'

Draco scoffed, moving closer to the item in question, "Understatement, Potter. Must you be so ignorant? One would think you were a mud-" Draco cut himself off, glancing at the potions professor, "muggle born," he finished, sneering, trying to pretend that was what he meant to say all along.

Harry grit his teeth, and moved closer to the other boy, glaring; his hand clenched in a tight fist around his wand, "I'm wizard enough to beat you Malfoy," he whispered harshly, _"_you and your _master_."

Trying to break the sudden tension, Professor Zhand cleared his throat, and eyed both students, "Power isn't everything, Potter, especially when you don't have the knowledge to back it up and use it properly. You know, I've read some of your past assignments," Greg continued dryly, "you might want to crack open a book once in a while. I'm sure there are plenty of them lying around, this is a school after all."

Harry rolled his eyes at the insult, "and you're a teacher, so _teach _me about Dragon's milk."

"Use your head, Potty," Draco jeered, "I know you've got one. It's got a great big, ugly scar on it." His arm shot out, and he flicked his finger against the infamous scar on Harry's forehead. "It's called Dragon's milk for a reason."

Harry flinched back from the contact, "what, _milk_? You mean they have to- From dragons? Eugh!" Harry shuddered, repulsed.

"Not much fun for the dragons either," Draco shared, with a half grin. "It's damn near impossible to get your hands on-"

Harry interjected, "no surprises there."

Draco persisted, ignoring Potter's outburst, "because it's illegal to extract." Malfoy perused the rest of the ingredients on the table with obvious interest. "There are a few reputable sources of course, if you have proper connections," he finished arrogantly.

Harry snorted, "Only you would call Borgin and Burkes a reputable source for anything."

Draco blinked in surprise at Harry. Shock was evident on his face for a split-second before it was hidden away behind Malfoy's regular Slytherin mien. He reached out blindly, grabbing the first item that came to hand and pretend to examine it in detail. Inwardly his mind raced, '_And what do golden Gryffindor's like you know about dark and dirty places like that? First Granger and now Potter... Does no one in this ruddy school act like they're supposed to?_'

Harry carried on despite Malfoy's silence, "and if it's illegal -"

"It's not illegal to own, just to extract," Professor Zhand clarified, offhandedly.

"That doesn't make any sense," Harry said, shaking his head.

"Its Wizarding law, did you really expect it to?" Greg asked, raising his eyebrow. "Put that down Malfoy!"

Frowning, Draco moved away from the table, "Aren't you going to put us to work, isn't that what that squib is always grumbling about."

"How can I put this... I wouldn't trust either of you to clean a cauldron, let alone stir it. You two can't spend five straight minutes together without drawing wands. And that squib, as you so _charmingly_ call him, would much rather have you strung up somewhere than anything else.

"So we're just supposed to sit here?" Harry demanded, "and _watch_ you make a potion?"

"Oh, you won't be sitting. This is meant to be a punishment after all," Professor Zhand replied.

"_Incendio!"_ A massive, Hagrid-sized fireplace was revealed directly behind the professor, as a fire within roared to capacity, before dying down to a more reasonable size. On either side of the hearth, a pair of ancient, iron shackles hung on the wall.

As Harry squinted in the sudden brightness, he mused, _'That's the second time I've seen him do wandless magci. Why doesn't he use his wand? He must have one._'

"You have got to be joking. You're not chaining me up!" Draco screeched. He pulled his wand and pointed it defensively. "My father will hear of this. You'll be out of Hogwarts so fast your head will spin."

"_Silencio_!" Professor Zhand silenced the irate Slytherin.

"Stop with the dramatics already, Malfoy, before your face sticks that way," Greg admonished. "Dumbledore gave me an _annoyingly_ long list of things I was not allowed to do to students in detention. 'Clapping them in irons' was unfairly high on it."

"On your knees, Malfoy," the Professor instructed, "hands behind your head." Greg moved around behind him, manoeuvring the boy's hands into the correct position.

'_Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Look at him,'_ a voice in Harry in Harry's head commanded, '_Slytherin's Prince brought low, before me_.' Harry was frozen in place, as though a petrificus had been cast. He could not look away from Draco. _'I could do anything -'_

"While we're still young Potter," Zhand said with exasperation.

Harry stumbled over to where the Professor impatiently waited, eyes still locked on Malfoy's kneeling form. Malfoy glared furiously up at him. Harry shook his head slightly, trying to shake loose the ridiculous thoughts that now filled it. '_No, he's glaring at both of us... more the professor than me... probably.' _ Potter yelpedas Greg pushed him down in front of Malfoy, slamming his knees into the unforgiving stone floor.

'A_nd far too close to Malfoy for my comfort,_' Harry thought, grimacing as his hands were jerked up behind his head.

"Boredom is the order of the day. Spend the next few hours thinking about your behaviour, because, let's face it," Greg smirked, "there's not much else here for you to think about, is there?"

Harry had turned his head away, to avoid looking at Malfoy, choosing instead to watch the Professor's movements, only to snap his attention back when Malfoy spoke. _'When did Zhand take that spell off...'_

"You can't expect us to -"

"Contemplate quietly Malfoy or I'll spell you both shut and for a good deal longer," Greg said, cutting short Malfoy's latest complaint. "No moving either, or I'll stick you to the floor, ruining those fine robes of yours."

Malfoy sneered at the Professor before unleashing a look of absolute hatred on Potter. It wasn't any more effective, despite being only half a foot away.

'_Brilliant_,' thought Harry, '_just how I wanted to spend my Monday night.'_


End file.
